


The Darkest Hour Before Dawn

by saxgoddess25



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, F/F, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, no magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-07-03 14:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saxgoddess25/pseuds/saxgoddess25
Summary: Regina Mills is one of the best pediatric cardiologists that Julian Gold has ever seen, but when she loses one of her young patients, her life spins out of control and she turns to the bottle. Seeking to head things off at the pass before she can do irreparable damage to herself or others, Gold makes arrangement for her to enter treatment. That's where she meets Deputy Emma Swan, the alluring yet frustrating woman who makes Regina feel things that she hasn't felt in a long time. Can they each be what the other needs as they fight their own personal demons and forge a new path to the future?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Darkest Hour Before Dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15816696) by [Miss_Conduct](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Conduct/pseuds/Miss_Conduct), [saxgoddess25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saxgoddess25/pseuds/saxgoddess25). 



> There are very heavy themes in this story, so though I chose not to use archive warnings because I didn't feel that "no archive warnings apply" truly fit the story, please read with care if you're triggered by character death, suicide ideation/attempts, and verbal or physical abuse. I've tried to use all of the trigger warnings I could think of that applied in the tags, but I may have missed some.
> 
> Thank you so much to laura-p-g and Maddi (tinylesbrarian) for being my cheerleaders. I had so much happening in my life while trying to write this, and your enthusiasm definitely helped keep me going. I must give thanks also to Angel_Ortiz for the great cover art! Lastly, to Rini who gave me the idea for this in the first place. I'm sorry it ended up going in a different direction than what you wanted, but maybe someday I'll write one that is more on that track.
> 
> Extra special thanks to Mary (mmd7z4) for being my wonderful beta. This story would have only been a shadow of what it is without your expert knowledge. I look forward to picking your brain again on the sequel.

Silence. That’s a sound (or lack thereof) that Dr. Regina Mills is not used to hearing in an operating room. Not that it’s exactly silent - there’s still the faint whir of the central air system - but the monitors have been turned off, and all of the tubes and leads removed from the little boy laying still in the bed. She’s alone with him, having asked the nurses for a few minutes before he’s wheeled downstairs to the morgue.

It takes a moment to gather her strength, but she eventually pushes herself to step closer to his bed, to look down on the closed eyes and the curly mop of hair. He’d been so animated when she’d visited his room that morning, and now he wears just the peaceful hint of a smile on his still face. She hopes that means his final dreams were happy ones. A lump rises in her throat, and she swallows heavily against the tears that threaten to follow. She has to look composed when she breaks the news to his parents, and that means no red-rimmed eyes. The memories of her mother’s voice in her head galvanize her just enough to keep the waterworks at bay, but she does take a moment to smooth a few unruly curls back from his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Roland,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

Regina swallows that lump one more time, then turns toward the door. It’s time to go deliver the words that no parent ever wants to hear to Mr. and Mrs. Locksley.

**

It’s three in the morning and Regina can’t sleep. All she can do is stare at the ceiling as intrusive thoughts fill her head and worry gnaws at her gut. _I couldn’t save him. What if I can’t save_ any _of them?_

It’s ridiculous. She knows it is. Losing patients is part of doing what she does; she knew that going in, long before she ever finished her coursework, let alone her residency. People die every day, and if you’re lucky, you manage to save some of them. Knowing it doesn’t stop the thoughts though, doesn’t stop the incessant drum beat of _they’re going to die_.

Curly hair and dimples, smiling brown eyes, and a hole in his heart. She let herself get attached to that little boy, knowing the whole time that she shouldn’t. It was just difficult not to. He was the sweetest thing in the world and both of his parents were so kind and loving.

It was a common procedure. She could have done it in her sleep. Furthermore, there was nothing to suggest that there would be complications. Unfortunately, nothing in life is guaranteed. Nobody could blame Dr. Mills for failing in her valiant effort to save the boy’s life – except her. _Your fault. You could have done more. You should have been able to fix it._ Her inner voice keeps battering at her. Never one to be left out, her mother’s voice joins the chorus. _I told you not to go into pediatric cardiology. But did you listen to me? Oh no._

Uttering a growl, Regina throws back the covers and gets up. She can’t take just lying there anymore, so she pads to her study and gets out the bottle of Glenlivet that Zelena gifted her for her birthday. After pouring herself a generous measure and adding just a splash of spring water, she takes a drink and starts pacing. Seven steps, carefully counted, then seven back. Focusing on the number helps quiet the thoughts a bit, and after a while, the alcohol starts to dull everything else. 

By the time she crawls back into her bed, she’s had way too much to drink, but that’s okay, she thinks. At least now she can sleep for a little while.

**

“Jesus, Mills, you look like shit.”

“You certainly know how to flatter a girl,” Regina mutters, wincing over her coffee cup as the chief of staff’s voice makes her head pound. His observation isn’t helping her hangover one bit.

“I don’t think you need flattery,” his tone of voice and his slight smirk are sardonic as ever, “I think you need a solid eight, some real food and a shower. Maybe not in that order.”

“I’ll have you know I took a shower this morning.” Her words are flat, lifeless.

“What I’d _like_ to know,” he forges on as if he hasn’t heard, “is why you showed up to my OR looking like you’re about to keel over from exhaustion and smelling like the inside of a barrel from my great grandad’s distillery.”

“I have the Hernandez girl’s surgery at ten.”

“No, you don’t. I’ll take it. Go home. Get some sleep. Don’t come back until you’re a functioning human being.”

“Gold…”

“Don’t argue with me, Regina.” There is something like pity in his voice, and she hates it, but she also knows that there’s no use arguing. Dr. Gold is implacable when he gives an instruction and he expects to be obeyed. It’s what makes him such a force in the operating room.

The problem is, Regina doesn’t know what to do with herself once he’s cut her loose. Her work is her life, and as the past two nights proved, sleeping isn’t going to be so simple. The only thing to do is open another bottle of wine, ignoring the clock entirely, and run herself a hot bath. Her fingers tap at her leg while she waits for the tub to fill, and she tries to hold back the thoughts that have been plaguing her.

Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap tap tap. She takes another drink to give her hands something else to do, and that’s when her brain conjures up an image of Daniel.

Days like this are when she misses him the most. She’d give up anything she owns to snuggle up on a couch with him and forget the world, but she can’t. He’s gone, thanks to her damn mother. Regina realizes she has started tapping again and grits her teeth.

Setting the wine glass back on the edge of the tub, she closes her eyes and presses her fingertips into them. Gold wasn’t wrong; she is tired. So very tired. _Two days of barely sleeping does that to a person_. She’s starting to waver on her feet, and the tub is almost full when she opens her eyes, so she steps in before she falls down. The water’s a little hotter than she expected, so she eases into it with a deep sigh and turns off the tap. In spite of everything going on in her brain, all of the anxiety and stress that has been building up, she feels the tension starting to seep out of her muscles.

How long has it been since she allowed herself the luxury of a bath instead of her usual perfunctory showers? Weeks, at least. She decides that she needs to make time for it more often.

She sips her drink, then dries her hands so that she can find music on her phone. 80s rock seems to be just the thing that might jolt her into a better mood, and as she looks for a Pandora station, a text message pops up from her sister.

**Z: Didn’t see you at the hospital today**

Regina sighs.

**Gold sent me home. I wasn’t feeling well.**

**Z: U never take a sick day**

**There’s a first time for everything.**

**Z: Riiight. U R losing UR edge, Sis.**

**Everything has to be a competition with you.**

Disgusted, Regina silences any further messages, turns on the music, and drops the phone back on the little table by her tub. _Maybe I_ am _losing my edge._ _Or losing my mind._ She takes a healthy swallow of wine and closes her eyes. It’s tempting to duck under the water and never come up again. That, at least, would stop the nagging, gnawing guilt and the worries that the next child will suffer the same fate as poor Roland. Maybe it’s a blessing that Gold took over the Hernandez girl’s surgery. She’s in better hands with him, and Regina knows it.

Once she finds herself back on that train of thought, it’s hard to quiet her mind again. She lingers in the bath until the water starts to turn tepid, then gets out and slips into cozy pajamas. Whiskey replaces wine as she crawls into bed, and she only falls into troubled dreams after she’s consumed way too much.

Waking in the darkness some hours later, she panics, and then is promptly sick into the garbage can she keeps by the side of her bed. Once she manages to stop heaving her guts out, she peers at the alarm clock. It’s not quite midnight.

“Fuck.”

She flops back on her bed, one hand clutching her stomach, and stares up toward the ceiling. Her head is throbbing again, pounding in time with the beating of her heart. Her heart that is functioning just fine, thankyouverymuch. Ironic, when she couldn’t save poor Roland’s.

“Stop it. Just stop it!” she says out loud, hoping that the words will make the horrible thoughts cease, but it does no good.

After forcing her rebellious body out of bed, Regina staggers into the bathroom for a glass of water and some Tylenol. She sits down on the commode and drops her head in her hands, feeling pretty miserable, both physically and mentally. “I need to find something to do.” Something that will get her mind off those thoughts and focus her attentions elsewhere. For the moment, though, she’s not going anywhere.

It takes a while, but she finally feels ready to move again without puking. She manages to get up with some effort, splashes cold water on her face, and wanders out into the kitchen. The lights are too bright, so she puts on sunglasses and pours a small glass of wine – hair of the dog – then sips at it, looking around for something to focus on. Regina keeps her kitchen immaculate, as a rule, so there is not much cleaning to do, but she gives everything a once-over anyway. _Idle hands are the devil’s playthings as Mother always says._

As she’s dusting, her gaze falls on the collection of cookbooks that she’s amassed over the years. Most of them have barely been glanced over, let alone used, so she pulls one down and starts flipping through it. There are a few recipes that look interesting, so the next step is to rummage through her pantry to find which she has ingredients for.

Hours later, she has enough food to feed an army packed into her fridge and freezer, and a kitchen that needs to be cleaned and tidied again. She’s also worked her way through another bottle of wine, so the stove and counter tops only get a perfunctory cleaning before she weaves her way back off to bed, lands face first into her pillow, and passes out.

**

The phone ringing jolts her awake again. By some miracle, she manages to grope around until she finds the phone without heaving into the garbage can first, but that’s probably just because there’s nothing left in her stomach to heave.

“Yeah?”

“Where _are_ you?”

Regina winces, “Shhh. Not so loud.”

“Mills, have you been drinking again?” It’s Gold’s very loud, very annoyed voice on the other end and she can almost picture the glare he’s giving the space in front of him.

“No. Was asleep. Whatchu want?”

“What I want is for you to be at your job - the job at which you used to be highly proficient. Or should I just hire a new cardiologist?”

“You sent me home,” she mutters into the receiver, still not quite conscious.

“I sent you home yesterday.”

She lets out a soft grunt while raising up just enough to see the clock. “Shit. _Shit_.” Her head falls back into the pillow, prompting a hiss as pain lances through, and she has to take a breath to collect herself. “Look, I’m sorry. I overslept. Let me grab a shower and I’ll be right in.”

“This better not be a pattern, Mills. Come straight to my office when you get here.”

Mumbling her agreement, she pushes the end button on the call and pulls the blankets back up over her head. She wishes she could just stay there, wrapped in a womb of warm Egyptian cotton, but she’s already on borrowed time. That doesn’t keep her from laying there for a few more minutes anyway.

The first order of business when she finally makes it out of bed again is to start a pot of strong coffee brewing. Then she can turn her attention to the shower and another dose of pain killer for her headache. It’s forty-five minutes after the phone call when she drags herself into Gold’s office, trying to act like she’s not hung over.

“So good of you to grace us with your presence, Dr. Mills.”

“I’m really sorry. I was up late baking, and I forgot to set my alarm.”

“Baking.” The word is completely deadpan, but the expression on his face hovers between disbelief and outright amusement.

“I do know how to bake, you know,” she says defensively, “If you don’t believe me, there’s a tray of cookies and brownies I just dropped off in the staff kitchen. You can see for yourself.”

Obviously, that isn’t a lie, but she can tell he knows it’s not the full truth either. “And what’s the occasion for this spate of late-night baking? Some holiday that I’m unaware of?”

“No.” She takes a breath and lets it out. “I’m just…working through some things, okay?”

“Regina,” it’s odd for him to use her first name, and she has an awful feeling that whatever he’s about to say is going to be full of pity. She hates pity.

“Gold. Don’t.”

He glances at the hand she has raised to forestall him from speaking, and then gives a slight shrug. “All right. Well. See to it that your _working through_ _things_ doesn’t continue to affect your performance here or I’m going to have to do something to resolve the problem myself. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Of course she understands, and she can’t blame Gold for being frustrated with her. Until lately, she’s been one of the most dependable members of his staff and he’s not used to seeing cracks in her armor. She usually doesn’t _allow_ anyone to see the cracks in her armor. As she makes her way into her office to prepare for a consult, she resolves that she’s going to pull herself together. No matter what it takes.

**

Sunlight streams onto her face as her bedroom curtains are wrenched back and Regina makes a noise of protest. It’s a rude awakening, since only one person has a key to her house besides her, but considering who that person is, a rude awakening doesn’t come as a surprise.

“Mother,” she croaks, opening one bloodshot eye to peer at her. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“That’s because I turned the ringer off. I was asleep.” She pulls the spare pillow over her head, trying to shut out both the light and her mother’s presence so that she can slip back into oblivion. Her head is already starting to throb.

“It’s the middle of the day, Darling. Why aren’t you at work?” From anyone else, there would be concern in that question, but from Cora Mills it’s more like an accusation. Unfortunately for Regina, the pillow isn’t working to block her out.

“I took the day off. Leave me alone, Mother.”

Her bed dips as Cora takes a seat, then plucks the pillow away from her and tosses it aside. “Zelena said that you weren’t at the hospital last Wednesday either, and that you were late to work the other day. What’s wrong with you?”

“Zelena needs to mind her own business,” she mutters before saying a little more loudly, “I’m just not feeling well today.” That’s nothing but the truth, since Regina has her eyes shut tight, fighting against a wave of nausea. After it passes, she presses her luck a bit. “In fact, I might be contagious. You should go.”

“Oh, nonsense.” It isn’t clear what she’s calling nonsense - Regina’s claim to be contagious or the idea that she should leave - but Cora doesn’t elaborate. Instead, there’s a sniff of disdain that suggests that she’s looking around the room, then she says, “I think I’m going to hire you a housekeeper. You’re obviously not up to the task of looking after the place yourself.”

Regina bristles, her eyes finally opening so that she can glare at Cora. “There’s nothing wrong with my housekeeping!”

“If you say so, Dear.”

“Mother, why are you here?”

“Can’t I visit my daughter? I hardly see you anymore.” Cora reaches out to brush some hair away from Regina’s forehead and it’s all she can do not to flinch. There are reasons that her mother hardly sees her these days.

“I’ve been busy, and now I’m really not feeling well so I’d like to go back to sleep. We’ll have lunch later in the week.”

“I’ll go make you some lunch right now.” Cora pats the blanket in the general area of Regina’s hip, then is up and breezing out of the room before she can open her mouth to protest.

She closes her eyes with a frustrated groan while groping for her discarded pillow. Finding it, she pulls it back over her face and lays there, wishing for the sweet release of death. Ceasing to exist had to be a thousand times better than dealing with her mother while hung over.

“Regina?” her mother calls from the kitchen after a few minutes have passed, “you’re not still in bed are you?”

Regina has to flip the pillow aside so that her voice isn’t muffled, and she glares at the ceiling. “No, Mother.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to keep my head from exploding,” she mutters.

“Regina?”

“I’ll be there in a minute!”

Her temples throb harder than ever from shouting but she somehow manages to get upright and into the bathroom before nausea overwhelms her again. It takes longer than it should, but she’s almost presentable before she wanders into the kitchen.

True to her word, Cora has put together lunch for her: a Caesar salad with chicken, a side of fruit, and water with a wedge of lemon. It’s all very healthy, though Regina doesn’t want to eat any of it. Her stomach is threatening rebellion at the mere idea of food. To buy herself some time, she picks up the glass of water and takes a long draught of it, knowing that water is what her body really needs at the moment. She’d prefer coffee, but beggars can’t be choosers. Cora’s sipping tea and watching Regina over the rim of her cup - an activity that has always made her squirm, whether she was guilty of something or not - and she has no choice but to dig in. 

The salad’s good, but her stomach mounts its rebellion anyway. She manages about three bites before she has to bolt for the bathroom. After she’s done retching, she washes her mouth out and goes back to the kitchen. “Would you like to talk about the wine bottles now?” Cora asks with deceptive calm.

“What about them?” She tries to play it off, but she can’t quite meet her mother’s eyes.

“Regina, you have a dozen empty wine bottles on your countertop and don’t think I didn’t see the empty liquor bottles in the recycling.”

“I had some friends over Friday night,” she bluffs, trying to be casual, “and I haven’t had a chance to do anything with the bottles yet. If I’d known you were coming over, I would have made sure to tidy up.” One thing’s for sure, she’ll have to pay better attention to them in future, in case her mother makes another unannounced visit.

Cora purses her lips. She’s obviously not convinced. “Darling…”

“Mother, please. Don’t you have somewhere else to be? I’m sure fundraisers don’t organize themselves.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be when my daughter is having problems.”

“The only problem I have is that you aren’t leaving me alone! Go pester Zelena.”

In her agitation, she starts tapping her fingers on her leg in their usual rhythm, though there is now an accompanying tremor to the movement.

“If you’re really not well-”

“Then I should be back in bed. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

“Silly girl, I’m not going to stop being your mother because you’re an adult. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I don’t need you to!” With her mother, ‘help’ has always been a code word for control.

They argue in circles for another twenty minutes, but in the end, Regina does manage to get her to leave. She has to promise to call her the next day, but it’s a price she’s willing to pay for peace and quiet now.

Once Cora is away, Regina makes herself some coffee, pours in a healthy measure of whisky, and heads back to her bed, ready to burrow under the blankets and stay there until she feels more human. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Mills, I would like a word.”

Gold’s standing in his office doorway when she walks in, and a quick assessment of his face suggests that this is going to be a serious word. Regina draws in a deep breath and nods, passing through into the office and leaving him to close the door behind her. There are two empty chairs on the near side of his desk, so she perches anxiously on the edge of one, wondering what bad news he’s about to dump on her. There’s a dull ache behind her eyes, but at least it’s no longer pounding as it had been before her morning drink.

“What’s up?” she tries to sound more chipper than she feels.

“Regina,” Gold takes his seat and leans forward with his hands folded onto the desk in front of him, “I’m concerned about you. Your performance has been suffering of late, and I’ve been trying to give you an opportunity to sort through whatever issues you’ve been having. However, I think it’s time that I step in.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now. Neither of us are stupid. You’ve been drinking, probably heavily, and the signs are obvious. I don’t know if you’ve had this problem for a long time and it’s getting worse, or if it’s new, but I’m not willing to wait until you hurt yourself - or someone else - before I fix it.” Regina opened her mouth to argue, but Gold wasn’t having it. “I’ve already booked you a space at a very reputable - and discreet - treatment center. If you wish to remain employed at this hospital and to maintain your license, you’ll check yourself in today.”

She stares at him, not quite able to process what he’s saying to her for a moment. “You’d report me to the licensing board?” She wants to tell him that she doesn’t have a problem, she just has a few drinks to help her sleep or to calm her anxiety. For some reason, she can’t make the words come out.

“If you force my hand, I will make that call before you can bat an eye. It’s my ethical duty to protect this hospital and our patients from harm. You know that.”

It’s true, she does; she’s just reeling from the fact that they’re even having this conversation. Gold places his hand gently on hers and she flinches a little, not used to that sort of contact from him. “I care about you too, Regina. You’re just about the most gifted cardiologist I’ve ever seen. Don’t throw that away because you’re too proud to accept help.”

All she can do is nod. She’s numb. Her world is threatening to crash in on top of her head and she has no idea how to stop it.

“I’m going to have a car take you to your house so you can get some things together. Then they’ll take you to the treatment center to get you checked in. All right?”

The second nod is barely a tip of her head, but that’s consent enough for him to pick up the phone. In short order, he’s made the arrangements for a car to pick her up and take her home, then off to the rehab center once she’s packed her bags. She barely speaks the entire time they’re waiting for her escort to arrive, answering Gold’s questions and comments with the minimum amount of words necessary. It isn’t that she’s trying to be difficult, she just doesn’t know how to react. Everything is spinning out of control and it just keeps spinning as her ride arrives and Gold walks her down to the lobby.

“Take care of yourself, Mills, and get better.” He reaches up and gives her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll look forward to having you back soon.”

Then he’s pushing her out the door and she follows her ride to his sedan. The poor fellow tries to make small talk, but all he gets for his trouble is silence, so after a few minutes he gives up. Regina watches out the side window as they navigate the streets out of the downtown area and into the suburbs where she lives the American Dream with her big house and white picket fence. She watches but she’s not really paying attention to the scenery or people that they pass. All of that is just a blur.

By the time they pull into her driveway, her head’s starting to throb again and her fingers are twitching a shaky rhythm against the arm rest on the door. “I’ll just wait out here for you, Ma’am,” the driver says, “take your time.”

Regina fumbles with her keys when she gets to the door and she has to lean against it for support once she’s closed it behind her. Tears are blurring her vision, so she closes her eyes and tries to force herself to breathe. Of all the thoughts she could have at a time like this, her mind invariably turns toward what her mother is going to say when she finds out that she’s checked herself into rehab. Cora will be livid, and Regina instinctually wraps her arms around herself and hunches smaller, as though her mother was there in the flesh to punish her.

She needs a drink to calm her anxiety, and the misery of it all is that’s the one thing she can’t have. Not anymore.

Well, maybe a small one won’t hurt, the little devil on her shoulder whispers in her ear. The withdrawal symptoms are more noticeable than they were at the hospital, and the rehab is going to put her through detox either way. It’s okay if she postpones the suffering for a little while longer.

She pushes off from the door and wanders into her study, treading the well-worn path to her liquor cabinet. A sigh escapes as her eyes rove over the collection of bottles, many still full or mostly full. It’s going to break her heart to pour it all out, but maybe she can convince Zelena to come collect it all while she’s gone. That way it won’t be going to waste. Her sister would probably want the expensive liquors at the very least.

Like the one at the center of the shelf.

It’s is a very old, very expensive bottle of Scotch that Regina’s been saving for a special occasion. She can’t think of a more momentous occasion than the last day she’s ever going to be able to drink it, so she picks it up and breaks the seal. She pours two fingers into a glass and adds a splash of water, then takes it off to her bedroom to sip while packing her bag. The first taste almost makes her start crying all over again. It’s just sublime. How is she ever going to give up something she enjoys so much for the rest of her life?

Maybe she doesn’t have to. She can get the binges under control to make Gold happy and be more conscientious about how much she drinks in the future. Convinced that she can make that work, she gets some clothes together, packs her toiletry kit, and finishes off the rest of her whisky. She gives everything a once over, knowing she won’t be back for a while, and makes her way out to the waiting car at last. The driver hops out to help her get her bags into the trunk and she manages a smile for him.

The Scotch has taken the edge off her headache again and her plan has given her something to grasp onto. If she can just make it through the coming weeks, it’s all going to be okay.

**

The treatment center is nice enough. A pretty young woman with auburn hair is working the reception when Regina arrives, and she greets her with a welcoming smile. Her nametag reads: Anna.

“Hello there. How can I help you?”

“I’ve been told I’m expected.” She glances around the room and, discovering that they’re the only two nearby, gives the receptionist her name.

“Ms. Mills?” Anna checks her computer screen and taps a few keys, “Oh yes, here you are. If you don’t mind filling these out-” she reaches for a clipboard with some forms on it. Regina’s intimately familiar with forms.

“Sure.”

There are chairs near the receptionist’s desk and she settles into one, glancing at the pieces of paper on the clipboard. Health history, privacy statements - including a notification of the circumstances under which the clinic is required to break confidentiality - release forms, and an explanation of what to expect from treatment, nothing really out of the ordinary. It takes her about ten minutes to complete the history and sign the rest, affirming she’s read them.

Anna smiles again when she returns the clipboard.

“All set?”

“Yes. What’s next?”

“Next I’ll have someone show you to your room so that you can drop off your things and then we’ll continue with your intake.” 

A quick phone call has one of the other staff members coming in to greet her. He introduces himself as Eric and grabs her suitcase, leaving her with just her purse and small duffle to carry as she follows him through the facility. “So, do you know much about the center?” he asks as they go.

“No, I’m afraid my boss made the arrangements for me.”

“Ahh,” he nods, “well, that’s not uncommon around here. You’ll have a private room, of course, and we aim to make it as pleasant an experience as we can so that you have every chance to succeed. There’s a swimming pool and a gym, and during the week we have fitness classes that you can attend if you like. There’s a packet in the room with the schedule, a map of the facility, and some other information you might need.”

Regina hums her agreement, half listening and half taking stock of her surroundings. The building is open and airy with plenty of natural light. If she’s got to be locked up for a couple of months, at least it’s not in a depressing dungeon of a place. She could almost imagine that she’s in some sort of a resort, if she squints and ignores the obvious elephant in the room.

Speaking of rooms, hers gives her nothing to complain about. It’s very much like a hotel room with a comfortable-looking bed, a spacious bathroom, and even a window seat where she can envision herself curling up with a book in her free time. Eric hasn’t mentioned a library, but she has a feeling that there must be at least a small one around.

“Are electronics allowed?”

“Not on a 24/7 basis, but depending on your treatment plan, you can have occasional computer and mobile access.”

That’s more than she was expecting, honestly, and even though she’s not sure she’ll want to face whatever messages her mother is bound to leave for her, it will be nice to find out what’s going on outside from time to time. “Sounds good.”

Now that she’s had a chance to see her room and drop off her things, Eric escorts her out and hands her the keycard. “I’m going to take you to meet Dr. Hopper now. He’ll be overseeing the rest of your intake and probably your treatment plan.”

“Dr. Hopper? What’s he like?”

“Intelligent. Soft spoken. Hell of a nice guy.”

She chuckles. “I suppose those _are_ important traits for a therapist.”

“Mmmhmm.”

They traverse another hallway until they come to an office with a partially open door. Eric raps on the doorframe. “Hey, Doc. I’ve got your next victim.”

“Come on in.”

After pushing the door the rest of the way open, Eric gestures her forward. “I’ll see you around later, and if you need anything let me know. Good luck!”

Regina thanks him and he returns a cheeky wave, then she’s alone with Dr. Hopper.

“Regina Mills, is it?” He double-checks the paper in front of him, then stands up and offers her his hand. “I’m Dr. Hopper, but I’m not really much for titles in here. Feel free to call me Archie.”

She almost shoots back that it’s _Dr._ Mills and that she _is_ one for titles, but she holds her tongue. Being combative right off the bat isn’t going to help her get through this any faster, and she’s well aware that the next few days are going to suck hard enough as it is.

“Hello…Archie.” She shakes his hand, then takes the seat he’s gestured to. He shuffles a few papers around, then picks up his pen.

“I’ve got a pretty extensive list of questions to ask you so that we can establish where you are right now, and what sort of help you might need to get to where you want to be. At first, we’re just going to focus on your substance use, and we’ll get into some of the physical and mental health questions later. Do you have any questions for me before we begin?”

“Yeah, can I go home now?”

Archie laughs and shakes his head, then pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’d be surprised how many times I’m asked that question. I really should learn to head it off with a preemptive statement.”

Regina doesn’t respond, so he launches into his questioning. The first few are basic. He has her confirm her name, demographic information, reason for referral and things of that nature. Then it’s down to the nitty-gritty.

“Now, when did you start drinking? About what age?”

“I was in high school,” she has to think back. Daniel had snuck half a bottle of cheap bourbon out of his father’s truck and they’d gone off to the barn to cuddle and kiss in the hay. By the end of the evening, they’d gotten shit-faced drunk. “Fifteen, maybe?”

“Mmm,” Archie scribbles a note onto his notepad, “and how much did you drink back then?”

“I don’t know. Not much. A can of beer shared with a friend, or maybe a little hard liquor if we could sneak it. My mother would have killed me if she’d found out.” 

“So, you wouldn’t say that your consumption had much of an effect on your daily life at that time?”

“No.”

“Your parents were strict?”

She barks a laugh, then winces and rubs at her temple as pain follows the outburst. “Mother was strict. Daddy…I love him, but he doesn’t do conflict.”

“Your mother was strict.” He makes another note. “Lots of expectations?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Was there ever a point when you started to rebel? Maybe started drinking more or experimenting with other substances?”

“College, I guess, like everyone else. I got invited to some house parties.”

There was a period after Daniel died that she spent more time drunk or high than sober, but she didn’t feel like telling him that. She’d worked through it. Or rather, Mother had harangued her into getting her head straight before she wasted everything she’d worked for.

“And how was your performance in your classes?”

“I graduated summa cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in chemistry and a minor in statistics, so you tell me.”

“Impressive.”

“I’d like to think so.”

Her snarky responses roll off him like water off a duck, and he just offers her a placid smile. “So, you made it through college as a social drinker. Is that a fair assessment?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Were there times when you drank alone, or was all your consumption strictly at parties and with friends?”

“I-” She shifted uncomfortably at that question. “Well, yes, I’d drink alone sometimes. Not a lot. A glass of wine or a hard cider, maybe a Scotch if I had some.”

“Did you ever drink just to get drunk?” She doesn’t answer. “Regina?”

“Sometimes.”

The quiet word hangs between them for a few seconds, then Archie clears his throat. “If you could estimate for me, what is your current alcohol consumption like?”

“I, um,” she draws in a breath and rubs absently at her temple again, “a few glasses of wine or some whiskey to help me sleep.”

“How much is a ‘few?’”

“I don’t know. Three or four?”

“I see. And how big are these glasses?”

Regina shrugs.

“Well then, answer this way: are you drinking a bottle of wine a day? Half a bottle?”

She looks down at Dr. Hopper’s desk and doesn’t answer for a while. He waits. Finally, she mutters, “One or two.”

“One or two bottles of wine per day?”

“Yes.”            

“On average, is it closer to one or two?”

“Two.”

“Two. All right. How much hard liquor?”

“I don’t know, it depends.”

“Are you drinking that on top of the wine?”

“Sometimes.”

“I have to imagine that’s impacting your daily functioning. It says here that you were referred by your employer.”

“Yes.”

“So, it’s been affecting your work.”

She shrugs again. “I called in sick a few times.”

Archie skims down one of the papers in front of him and she recognizes it as the history form she filled out. “You’re a medical doctor?”

“A pediatric cardiologist.”

“Did you go to work while you were intoxicated?”

“Not intoxicated, no.” 

“But you had alcohol in your system.”

“…Yes.”

“How recently was this?” When she doesn’t answer again, he looks up. “Regina.”

“This morning.”

“About how long ago did you start drinking like this?”

“A month or so.”

“A month. Okay.” He jots that down. “Was there something that happened at that time?”

“I lost a patient.”

“Lost. You mean they died.”

“Yes,” her voice quivers and she has to take a moment to collect herself, “I was trying to correct an atrial septal defect and his blood pressure just dropped. We couldn’t get it back.” Poor little Roland is there in her mind, curly mop of hair and smiling eyes.

“That must have been devastating.” Tears well up in her eyes and Archie hands her a tissue from the box on his desk. Regina bites her lip and nods at his assertion while dabbing the tears away. It feels foolish to be crying about it after a month, but there she is. “And I can see that it’s still really painful for you.”

She nods again, gritting her teeth to hold back a fresh swell of tears. She hates this. Hates being weak in front of other people.

Archie waits to see if she’ll say anything and when she doesn’t, he continues on instead. “Maybe we can talk about it some in the future - if or when you’re ready to,” he waits for her next nod, then jots down a few more quick notes before laying his pen atop the notepad. “I think that’s good enough for the moment. Let’s take a little break, and then we’ll get into more of your family and personal history. If you’d like to use the restroom, take a left from my door and it’s at the end of the corridor. Or if you’d like some fresh air, there’s a door that goes out onto our patio about halfway down. Come back in ten minutes?”

“I will. Thank you, Dr. Hopper.”

“Archie, please.”

“Archie.” Regina rises and heads down the hall toward the bathroom. The questioning has already been tougher than she thought it would be, and the hardest questions are still to come.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, she makes it through the rest of the intake, though Archie’s stash of tissues is diminished by the time he’s done with her. The counselor that had taken her to her room earlier returns to show her around the detox center where she’ll be spending the next few days. Once she feels like she knows her way around, he leads her back to the room to help her unpack and put away her things – to make sure she hasn’t brought any prohibited items with her, she’s sure. When he leaves, he takes her cell phone with him.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he says, “then we’ll get you settled into the detox center.”

By now her eyes are red and gritty and her headache is back with a vengeance, so she sinks onto the comfy bed in her room to wait for him. Her only solace is that she’ll soon be receiving medicine to help her deal with the withdrawal symptoms, though she knows that they are only a mitigation, not a cure.

Archie went over her detox with her in detail, since she has the medical knowledge to understand what’s going to happen to her body, but knowing what’s going to happen doesn’t spare her from the physical effects of it happening.

There is a tap at the door, and Regina manages to roll back onto her feet with a groan. However, what she finds at the door isn’t Eric, or any other member of the staff. There’s a smiling woman with dishwater blonde hair standing there instead. “Hi neighbor! I thought I’d stop by and introduce myself. I’m Kathryn.” As she offers her hand for a handshake, she looks Regina from head to foot, and the look is followed by a wince of sympathy. “Oof. You look rough. I take it that you haven’t been to detox yet.”  

“Not yet,” Regina agrees, but doesn’t expand. She doesn’t want to be rude, but she really has no interest in being sociable either. Kathryn must sense that, because she gives Regina’s upper arm a friendly squeeze and moves on to the next door down.

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you then. We can have a better introduction later, since I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other plenty in the next few weeks.”  

“I’m sure we will,” Regina mumbles, not quite sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

“Good luck!” Kathryn smiles again and gives her a wave before disappearing into her room.

 _That woman is way too happy for a place like this_. Regina closes her door a little more forcefully than she intended and the momentum of closing it nearly throws her off balance. She has to place her hand on the wall for a few seconds to regain her equilibrium. As she stands there, she wishes that people would stop saying “good luck,” as though luck had anything to do with what was about to happen.

She rests her head against the wall and closes her eyes, wanting nothing more than to just go home. Then she wants nothing more than to have a drink. Where in the hell did Eric run off to anyway?

By the time he returns, Regina has wetted a washcloth in the sink and closed the curtains to darken the room. She’s curled up into a ball in the middle of her bed with the cool cloth pressed to her forehead and the blankets up to her chin. Her old friend nausea is back and her head feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice. When she doesn’t answer the door, Eric uses a key card to open it and flicks the overhead light on as he enters. “Regina?”

The light makes her hiss and burrow deeper under the duvet.

“I’m sorry that took so long. Dr. Hopper needed my help with something.” He pulls the edge of the duvet up and peers in at her. “Let’s take you over to the detox center so that we can get you feeling better. What do you say?”

“What I say is: ‘I wish you would go to hell.’” Eric only chuckles and shakes his head.

Despite her strong words, Regina doesn’t fuss as he helps her out of the bed and over to her temporary room in detox. It doesn’t take long to get her settled into the bed there with monitors hooked up to her and vitals taken.

There’s an old adage that doctors make the worst patients and she has never felt that more personally than she does now. She’s just about ready to bolt when Eric finally gives her the medications that will make her existence a little less like a living hell. One part of the cocktail of drugs is a sedative, and after that kicks in, she sleeps.

When she wakes again, it’s the middle of the night. She can hear staff members moving around somewhere but other than the soft beeping of monitors, everything else is quiet. Freeing herself from all of the apparatus of wires, she pads to the bathroom to relieve herself and sits there for a few extra minutes. She doesn’t feel quite as bad as she had earlier, but the anxiety is starting to gnaw at her. Taking deep breaths, she tries to keep it from becoming a panic attack, but it’s a challenge. She just keeps focusing on a steady in and out and reminds herself over and over that she can do this. She washes her hands and splashes water on her face, then drinks a handful of it before going back to bed. 

Without the alcohol to calm her or mask her tics, they start to appear, and she lays there tapping the same steady rhythm on her leg. She’d pace if she didn’t think that would draw the attention of the nurses on duty, though as the anxiety gnaws harder at her, she’s tempted to do it anyway. It’s only a matter of time before the intrusive thoughts begin again, and she closes her eyes to try to block them out.

What was she thinking, letting Gold force her into this? If she ever makes it out of here alive or halfway sane, she’s going to kill him. For some reason, that’s a comforting thought, so she lets her mind wander on the topic of Gold’s murder for a little while.

There are so many ways she could kill him. Maybe she should torture him first. There have to be a million ways to make him suffer at least as badly as she’s suffering right now. Fantasies of medieval torture devices that she used to read about in history books fill her head. Hot pokers. The rack. There was even a screw-like device that they used on a man’s genitals. That seems fitting. Or she could just skin him. With a rusty scalpel. A dull rusty scalpel. Yes.

“How are you doing, Ms. Mills?”

She flinches, jolted out of her homicidal fantasy world by the nurse on duty.

“I’m,” she licks her lips and discovers that her mouth is dry, “I’m kind of thirsty and I could really use something for my headache. Do you think you could find me a cup of water and a Tylenol?”

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” the nurse says and disappears again.

In the meantime, Regina tries to go back to torturing Gold in her mind, but it’s no use. The zeal is gone. It’s just as well, she supposes. It’s not like she’s actually going to do any of that, as much as she wants to right now.

Perhaps she should just off herself instead. It would be easier, and just as attractive an option at the moment. It isn’t as though she’s never considered it – though she hadn’t admitted that to Dr. Hopper. Suicidal ideation is something that gets reported, and that’s the sort of trouble she doesn’t need on top of everything else. The only problem with the idea is that it will be pretty hard to commit suicide in a detox center. Not impossible by any means, but she’d probably have to hang herself. That’s not the way she’d prefer to go if she has a choice.

“Here you go, Sweetie,” the nurse says as she disturbs Regina’s musings yet again. She comes bearing a nice big cup of water and two small white pills.

“Thank you.”

The nurse checks her monitors and writes down a few numbers on her chart. Then she pats the blanket over Regina’s foot and offers her a smile. “Just buzz for me if you need anything else.”

“I will.”

Quiet – or, at least, relative quiet – descends again, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Unfortunately, alone with her thoughts is not really a place she wants to be. She hasn’t had to cope alone in the night without alcohol for a month, and with the withdrawal, it’s even worse than it was before.

She’s still awake and anxious the next time the nurse passes through, and dawn finds her staring at the ceiling, trying to focus enough to count the holes in the tiles. Her morning meds help her to not feel quite as much like something that’s been scraped out of the bottom of a trash can, though she declines any sort of breakfast. She can’t remember the last time she ate something, but she’s not hungry. Instead, she dozes a bit before Archie stops by to check on her.

“How are you feeling today, Regina?” he asks with a smile that she wants to smack off his face, but she manages not to snap at him somehow.

“Not wonderful, but I made it through the night.”

“That’s always a good start. How are the withdrawal symptoms?”

 _Shitty. Thanks for asking._ She doesn’t say it out loud, but his smile crinkles the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes like he’s read it on her face anyway.

“Nothing dangerous,” she tries to answer with Dr. Mills calm instead of being flippant and aggressive like she wants to. “Headache, nausea, no appetite to speak of, a few spells of heart palpitations. Anxiety.” She adds the last reluctantly, almost as if he’s dragged it out of her instead of just asking. It’s a common symptom, but admitting that she’s experiencing it feels too much like confessing to a weakness.

“That’s all perfectly normal. I want you to make sure that you stay hydrated and if you start to experience any more severe symptoms, let one of us know right away.”

Regina nods. She knows the drill. “Do you think someone could find me something to read? Even one of your reference texts would be better than nothing.”

“Sure thing. I’ll see what we can find for you.”

“Thanks.” Detox is going to take several days, and if she doesn’t find something to keep her mind occupied, she really is going to crack.

To his credit, it doesn’t take long for to Archie come through for her. One of the staff members arrives about half an hour later with a selection of paperbacks, magazines, and three or four heavy psychology texts, making Regina laugh hard enough that she winces in pain. Dr. Hopper has a sense of humor, it seems. As much as she doesn’t want to, Regina’s actually starting to like him.

**

Detox ends up taking her a week. She’s still getting headaches, but they’re milder, and she and Dr. Hopper have determined that she’s out of the danger zone for the more severe withdrawal effects. She has also read everything they brought to her on that second day, so she’s ready to get out into the center at large before boredom sets back in.

“You’ve got your first group session this morning,” Archie tells her as they walk to her room, “and later this afternoon, you’ll have a one-on-one session with me. We can debrief and talk about your experience with the group at that time, or anything else you want to discuss.”

“Okay.”

They arrive at her door just as the woman she’d met on the first day emerges from her room. “Oh, hi Archie. Hi,” her gaze falls on Regina, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name last time.”

“That’s because I didn’t throw it.”

Archie just chuckles and Kathryn gives a good-natured laugh. “Well, maybe you could throw it this time? I’ve got my catcher’s mitt.”

“Regina.”

“Nice to meet you. Again.” She offers her hand and waits for Regina to shake it. After a moment’s hesitation, she does.

“You too.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two if you don’t mind. Things to do. I’ll see you this afternoon, Regina.”

She nods her agreement and watches Archie head back down the hall.

“You look a lot better than the last time I saw you,” Kathryn says when he’s gone.

“I feel better,” she admits. Which is not to say that she feels great, but from the bottom, the only way to go is up.

“That’s great. I’m on my way to yoga class, if you feel up to tagging along. It’s wonderful for clearing the head and centering yourself.”

It’s only then that Regina notices that the other woman is dressed for a workout. “Um. Thank you, but I have group this morning.”

“Ohh. Who’s your leader?”

Regina glances down at the little slip of paper Archie had given her before they left the detox facility. “Someone named…Belle?” She stares at the paper as though that can’t possibly be right. “What sort of name is Belle?”

“It’s short for Anabelle, I think. She’s super nice though. You’ll like her.”

“Hmm.”

She isn’t completely convinced, but she’s willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. After all, she hasn’t met anyone yet that she actively dislikes. Kathryn is still a bit too chipper for her tastes, but she’s nice enough.

“I guess I’ll leave you alone now. If I don’t get moving, I’m not going to make it to class. Have a good day!”

“You too.”

By the time Regina slides her key card into the reader on the door, Kathryn is turning the corner at the end of the hallway and disappears from sight a few seconds later.

Once inside her room, she takes a breath and tries to compose herself. The idea of group therapy is making her nervous again, and she can’t quite calm the anxiety. Yoga probably would have helped. She regrets now that she wasn’t able to tag along with Kathryn.

Since yoga is out of the question, she resorts to a shower instead. She turns the taps up as hot as she can stand and lingers under the cascade of water for a while. It helps some, until she gets out and starts to dress, only to discover that she’s going to be late for group.

“Shit!”

With no time to properly do her hair, she pulls a brush through it and ties it up, then fishes around for a t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. She’s not exactly going to be making a wonderful first impression, but she supposes it doesn’t matter. It’s rehab after all, not a charity benefit soiree.

 _I won’t be seeing any of these people again after I leave here, so who cares?_ She does take a moment to throw on a little makeup - she’s not a heathen - and slips into her sneakers before dashing down to the room where her group is meeting.

After only two wrong turns, she finally makes it to the correct place, walking in to find that the group has started on introductions. All eyes turn toward her and she’s still trying to catch her breath as she mumbles, “Sorry I’m late.”

A petite young woman with the bluest eyes Regina’s ever seen smiles at her and gestures her toward the single empty spot left in the circle of chairs. “That’s quite all right. We’ve only just started on introductions for the members joining us. Please have a seat.”

The woman introduces herself as Belle French, their group leader, and has the two others whose intros Regina missed repeat them. They’re pretty good-natured about it, but one grumpy-looking guy across the circle from Regina keeps giving her the stink eye. _What’s his fucking problem?_ She doesn’t have long to ponder about it because soon it’s her turn to speak.

“Hi, I’m Regina. I’m here because,” she stops. _I’m here because my boss thinks I’m a drunk._ She has to take in another breath, during which time Belle gives her a brief encouragement. Regina raises her chin slightly and her tone is 100% Dr. Mills as she glares right back at grumpy dude. “I’m here to learn to manage my use of alcohol.”

“Okay, good. We’ll certainly help you do that. This is your first time in treatment?”

“Yes.”

Belle nods. “And what brought you here?”

“I…” Regina doesn’t really want to answer the question, but the others shared their stories and she feels a sense of obligation. “My boss made me come. I went to work hungover a few times and he was concerned that I was drinking too much.”

There are several nods from the other members. 

“Anything else you’d like to share?”

Regina shakes her head so they move on to the man next to her. She tries to focus on his introduction but her attention snags on a blonde woman who’s seated next to grumpy dude. There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about her, but she catches Regina’s attention just the same. The woman is conventionally pretty, with an athletic build that suggests she logs her fair share of time in the gym, and she looks just as happy to be there as Regina does. Not in the overtly grumpy way of the fellow next to her, but she’s definitely not in treatment because she wants to be.

“I’m Emma,” she says when it’s her turn, “I’m here because I got drunk and wrapped my car around a tree. After that, I was given the ultimatum that if I wanted to keep my job, I had to come here and get sober. So here I am. This is my first time in treatment, third session with the group.”

 _Emma_. As the guy next to her, Leroy, starts in on his introduction, Emma glances over at her and catches her looking. Not wanting to appear guilty or anything, Regina forces herself not to break eye contact. Emma frowns, probably wondering what the fuck Regina’s staring at, and then she very deliberately turns her head to listen to Leroy.

Neither Emma nor Grumpy - that’s what Regina decides to call him in her head - seem like the kind of people she’d expect to find in a facility like this. Maybe it’s just her mother’s prejudice showing through, but this is the sort of place frequented by people with money. They are both far too ‘blue collar’ to fit the surroundings.

“Okay everyone,” Belle says as Grumpy wraps up. “As we have a couple new people, I’m just going to remind you all that this is a safe space. Confidentiality is important so, like Las Vegas, what happens in group stays in group. That means no telling anyone outside the group any sensitive information about others inside it. I want you all to feel comfortable sharing your stories and challenges, so please be respectful. You’ll be hearing this again as we gain new members, but try to bear it in mind as we go. All right?”

There’s a chorus of yeses and nods around the circle and Belle smiles before clapping her hands and rubbing them together. “Okay then. We’re going to start with a quick activity now to help us all get to know each other better and to work on some problem-solving.”

Regina’s never really been one for team building exercises, but she keeps her head down and works with her two assigned partners without complaining. Neither one of them are new and both seem perfectly okay with the fact that she doesn’t talk much. Instead, she gets to be the note-taker, jotting down the things her partners come up with as they brain storm. Of course, since she’s the note-taker, that also means she ends up being the one who has to present the notes to the rest of the group. As she stands and begins to read off some of their ideas, she notices Grumpy whispering something to the blonde - Emma - behind his hand.

“You got something to add there, sourpuss?” she demands without thinking, barely registering the looks of shock from the others as she zeroes in on Leroy.

“You talking to me?”

“I don’t see anyone else in here who looks like they’ve permanently swallowed a lemon.”

“Then maybe you need to look in the mirror, Sister.”

“Okay, okay, calm down you two,” Belle interrupts before the exchange has the opportunity to escalate further. “Leroy, please let Regina speak. You’ll have your turn in a few minutes.”

The scruffy little man just nods and crosses his arms over his chest, though he continues to scowl at Regina. As soon as she’s done with the summary of her group’s discussion, she sits down and glares right back. She really doesn’t know what she’s done to piss in his Cheerios, but she’s already fed up with him.

The rest of the session passes without further incident and she hangs back long enough at the end to let Grumpy and the blonde leave first. Regina has a low-grade headache and a lack of patience for dealing with stupidity.

“Are you doing all right?” Belle asks her.

“Yeah,” she plays it off as no big deal, “I just didn’t want to cause an international incident in the hallway.”

Belle chuckles and shakes her head. “Tempers get a little short sometimes, and that’s okay. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Her stomach rumbles when she steps out of the meeting room, and the idea of food is appealing for the first time in days, so Regina takes herself off to the dining hall for some lunch. Once there, she discovers that the array of food choices is broad and the quality surprisingly good. She’s about halfway through her salad when she looks up to find Kathryn hovering with a tray. “Mind if I join you?”

“If you’d like,” she pulls her things back a bit so that there’s room for Kathryn’s and takes a sip of iced tea.

“You’re really not much of a people person, are you?” Kathryn asks with a good-natured grin as she sits.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, the resting bitch face was a clue. That, and you’re over here all by yourself.”

“I’m just not really fond of small talk.” Though what Kathryn said is true, she supposes. Regina _isn’t_ much of a people person except when it comes to dealing with patients, and that’s different. It’s her job to be nice to patients - or professional, at the very least.

“That’s too bad. I guess I’ll have to do all the work of keeping the conversation going then.” She winks, and Regina can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t put yourself out on my account.”

“Oh, I won’t.”

Shaking her head, Regina stabs her fork into an olive. “Why are you trying so hard?”

“Because you looked like you could use a friend.”

Regina scoffs and says nothing, just chews her current bite of salad.

“Look, we’re all here to regain control of our lives, right? The way I figure it,” Kathryn pops a cherry tomato in her mouth and pauses long enough to chew it, “it’ll be easier to do that with a positive attitude. Part of keeping a positive attitude is having people to share your burdens with along the way.”

“You’ve obviously bought into all of this. How long have you been here?”

“Three weeks.”

“If I start sounding like that after three weeks, please kill me.”

“I will not,” Kathryn says with a laugh, “I’ll get you a milkshake to celebrate your progress.”

“A milkshake does sound good,” Regina concedes, a tad wistfully. “I don’t remember the last time I had one.”

“Good. A milkshake it is, then.”

Before she can comment further, her attention gets snagged by the woman from her group, Emma, walking into the room. Kathryn follows her gaze, then raises an eyebrow at her.

“She’s in my group,” Regina says, feeling a need to explain, as she forces her eyes back to her plate. It wouldn’t do to have Emma think she’s staring at her again. “It…didn’t go so smoothly today.”

“Oh?” Kathryn looks back at Emma, reassessing. “What did she do?”

“Nothing. She was sitting next to this guy who was giving me nasty looks and I sort of…snapped at him”

“You? Snapped at someone? This is my surprised face,” Kathryn deadpans and it makes her smile again.

“Yeah, well, he deserved it.”

“I’m sure he did.” They both take a bite of their food, and Kathryn chews thoughtfully on hers before continuing, “Group has its ups and downs. You’ll get settled in after a bit.”

Regina nods, though she’s not quite convinced. Especially not after today. Kathryn keeps talking, but she only half listens. Instead, she’s hyper aware of where Emma is as she gets her food and then goes to sit by a window on the other side of the room. By some strength of will, Regina keeps herself from looking over at her. She doesn’t know what it is about the woman, but there’s something - a pull that she hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Earth to Regina.”

“Hmm?”

“I think you spaced out there for a minute.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, I did say that I was going to have to carry the conversation.”

She laughs and tries to put Emma’s presence out of her mind completely. She’s not very successful at it.  “Yes, you did. So carry it some more. Tell me about yourself.”

Focusing on Kathryn makes it easier to not focus on Emma, and Regina learns that she’s a divorcee with no children, except for a golden retriever named Goldie. “It’s not very original, I know.”

Perhaps it’s not, but Regina finds it perfectly charming all the same.

“Who’s looking after her while you’re in here?”

“My boyfriend. He spoils her rotten.”

“You’ve got a dog and a boyfriend?”

“Pretty good, for an alcoholic, huh?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine.” Her expression turns sad for a moment as she looks down at her food. “I had a miscarriage. That’s where it started. Then with work stress, nightly glasses of wine turned into nightly glasses of vodka. I’m sure you know how that goes.”

Regina nods.

“Jim, that’s my boyfriend, has been so supportive. I’m really lucky to have him.”

Regina is envious. Daniel would have been that for her, she’s certain of it, if only he had gotten the chance. “It sounds like it,” she says, pushing memories away before she can start dwelling on them.

“What about you?”

“I lost someone,” Regina says after a short hesitation. That’s the easiest way she can think of to say it without having to share too much, because even though Kathryn seems trustworthy, they’ve only just met. Dr. Mills still has to be concerned about her license. “After that, I wasn’t sleeping, so I had a few drinks a night to help me cope.”

“Quieting the demons in your head?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “Well, while we’re here, if you need to talk to someone on more of a friends level than a counselor to patient level, I’m just right next door.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

They finish up their lunch chatting about lighter topics, slowly getting to know each other better, and then Kathryn goes off to her group session. Regina risks a glance around the room and discovers that Emma is no longer there. While she’s figuring out whether to be sad or relieved about that, Regina wanders off to find a source of new reading material to occupy her down time. She’s standing just at the edge of a lounge, wondering where the best place to start is, when Belle happens by.

“You look lost.”

“I haven’t gotten a chance to learn where everything is here yet, which is why I was late this morning. I was just wondering if this place has a library, and if so, where I might find it.”

Belle brightens at the word ‘library.’ “We do! Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

The library isn’t huge, but it is well organized, and Regina is able to find a few things that look interesting at first glance.

“Some of the books are paperbacks that people bring with them and leave when they’re done,” Belle gestures to a section devoted to them, “but there are also some nice references in here for various topics relating to addiction and recovery, as well as general health and wellness. I’m sort of the unofficial librarian, so if there’s anything you’re looking for, or would like me to see if I can get, let me know.”

“Thank you, Miss French. I just might.”

“Ooh, ‘Miss French,’” she giggles, “So formal!”

Shaking her head, Belle leaves her to it, continuing on to wherever she’d been going before she’d stopped to help her. Regina browses for a bit, then takes three novels back to her room. After setting an alarm so that she won’t be late to her session with Dr. Hopper, she takes the first book and a pillow and makes herself cozy in the window seat. She doesn’t get far into the novel, however, before the combination of warm sun, a fluffy pillow, and a full stomach lulls her off to sleep.

The loud beeping of the strange alarm wakes her with a jolt, and it’s flailing panic for several seconds before she can stumble to the nightstand and figure out how to turn it off. She sits heavily on the side of the bed, letting her heartbeat slow while she tries to remember what planet she’s on. _Appointment with Archie,_ her brain finally provides, and she pushes a hand through her hair. Right. Therapy. Yay.

She’s still a bit groggy and out of sorts when she gets to his office, and he just looks up at her with that same compassionate expression he always wears. “Good afternoon, Regina.”

“Hi.”

“Have a seat,” he gestures her to the squishy chair across from him and waits for her to sit. “How has your day been?”

Strange. Complicated. Thinking’s a little difficult with her head full of wool, so she shrugs and says, “It was okay.”

“Anything you want to go over with me or chat about?”

“Not really.” She could bring up the guy from group, but she doesn’t really see the point. Archie would probably just ask her how the interaction had made her feel, or some crap like that, and she doesn’t want to talk about how she would have liked to punch Leroy right in his big, ugly nose.

“Okay then, is there anything you do want to talk about?”

“Want to? No.” Regina doesn’t _want_ to be there at all. She sighs and rubs her head. “But I suppose that I need to talk about Roland.”

“Roland?”

“The boy that died.”

“Oh, yes. Whatever you feel ready to share, please do.”

She takes in a deep breath and smooths her hands over her thighs before she can find the strength to begin. She starts by telling him about Roland and his family, about how she’d broken her own protocols and allowed herself to get attached to that curly-haired cherub and his doting parents. Regina had liked Robin and Marian, finding them to be strong and kind with surprisingly wicked senses of humor. Breaking the news to them that their son hadn’t made it through the operation was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. 

Archie listens, occasionally nodding as she tells about the intrusive thoughts, the near crippling self-doubt, and the frustrating tics that come out when she’s under duress. He asks her more about them and she tells him about the counting and the tapping - things she’s done in times of stress and anxiety since she was small.

“I hate it,” she confides, as she practically has to sit on her hands to keep from doing it while they’re talking about it.

“Why?”

“My mother used to yell at me when she noticed. Sometimes she punished me for it.”

“How did she punish you?”

Regina is quiet long enough that he has to prompt her to answer.

“Spanking. Grabbing or smacking my hands. If I was pacing, she would lock me in my room so that she didn’t have to see it.”

“How long would she leave you in your room?”

“Hours. Sometimes she would forget that she locked me in.”

Archie scribbles down some notes. “And was she physical with you at other times?”

She bites her lip and nods. Her childhood had been full of unexpected slaps, arms grabbed roughly, and being shaken while her mother called her stupid or worthless. The worst times had been the deadly silences and death glares. Those were reserved for when Cora wasn’t in a place where she could loose her anger, and Regina always suffered more for it when they were alone.

“What about your father?”

The laugh that slips out is bitter. “Daddy is intimidated by her. When I was little, he’d try to muster some courage to stand up to her and she’d walk all over him. I love him very much. He’s a kind and gentle man, but he’s not much help.”

“You said you have a sister. Did she go through the same thing?”

“She’s my half-sister, and no, she didn’t grow up with me. Mother had her when she was younger, before she met Daddy. She abandoned her and Zelena blames me because I was the child Mother wanted.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Daddy’s family is rich. My mother wanted wealth and respectability. A child conceived out of wedlock with a man that lied to her held her back from the things she wanted. So she got rid of her.” Regina pauses for a moment before she says, “I often wish I’d been the one she abandoned instead. Zelena has no idea what living with her was like.”

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence?’”

She nods.

“You were both affected by your mother’s choices, and you both have trauma because of it. It’s more productive to focus on healing yourself than envying someone else’s life.”

“I know.” She looks down at her hands. “I wish you could tell that to my sister though. She has the world’s biggest chip on her shoulder.”

“I’m sure that’s frustrating.”

“Frustrating is a massive understatement.”

“Well, hopefully by the time you’re finished with treatment, we can teach you some healthy strategies for interacting with her.”

“I’m not going to hold my breath on that one, but I’d appreciate it if you could.”

“Have a little faith.” Archie smiles. He glances down at his notes for a moment before moving on, “So…you have quite a bit of family and work stress, as well as trauma, which have led to intrusive thoughts, insomnia, and repetitive coping strategies that aren’t helping.”

“Yes.”

“Have you been having the intrusive thoughts since you’ve been here?”

“Not as much,” she admits. “The first few days in detox were bad. Now, I still hear my mother’s voice in my head, but less frequently.”

“What do you hear her saying?”

Regina stares down at the floor, her gaze unfocused. “She tells me that I’m weak, that I’m useless, that no daughter of hers should have ended up a drunk. If I was a strong person I could have gotten control of myself. This is a waste of time and money. I shouldn’t be here.”

“Is there more?”

She nods, but she doesn’t expand on what she’s already said.

“Okay,” Archie says in that gentle way of his, “I want you to try something for me. Next time you start hearing that voice in your head, I want you to visualize a stop sign. Really see it in your mind’s eye, and then once you picture it, tell those voices to stop. Every time they start again, do that, and refocus your thoughts onto something else. Think about things you enjoy, the plots to your favorite books, or start singing a song that you like. Anything that distracts you from the negative thing and refocuses you onto a positive. Will you do that for me?”

She nods again. “All right.”

“It’s an activity that requires you to be mindful, but it gets easier the more you do it. I have a few meditation techniques for you to try as well. I’ll give you a printout at the end of our meeting today that you can read through at your leisure.”

Regina isn’t convinced the new age mumbo jumbo will work, but she’s not going to argue. For the moment, at least, she’s willing to give it a shot - more so than she was on the day she entered treatment. If it doesn’t work, at least she can say she tried.

**

“Hey, look, it’s the evil queen!”

It’s said in a stage whisper as she walks into group. She doesn’t even need to look to know it’s Leroy who’s said it, but she glances over anyway and sees Emma laughing. Regina’s jaw tightens and she heads for her seat without saying anything. She tries to pretend she’s not affected by his words, putting up a facade of professional aloofness, but there’s a flush in her cheeks that she can’t hide. Embarrassment, anger, and frustration all roil through her and without thinking about it, she clenches her hands into fists.

Leroy’s taunting is juvenile, but Belle isn’t there to put him in his place and it’s all Regina can do to keep from pummeling him. Emma’s laughter is what really needles her, but at the same time, it’s the one thing that keeps her from acting. She doesn’t want to lose face in front of this woman. Not a second time. Luckily, she doesn’t have to suffer for too long before Belle shows up.

There isn’t anyone new in the group, so they don’t have to waste time on introductions. Instead, they begin with another team-building sort of activity. She is glad to discover that Belle doesn’t have a sadistic streak - either that or Regina’s found proof that there is a God - because she isn’t paired up with Grumpy. She isn’t paired up with Emma either, though her gaze slides to her from time to time.

After the activity is over, they move into a discussion about denial, harmful behaviors associated with alcohol abuse, and how to avoid or cope with those situations. Regina remains quiet as she had before, mostly watching and listening to the others’ experiences. Talk of denial hits a bit close to home and she tries to ignore the gnaw of conscience because that’s exactly what she’s been doing. The session passes without anything more eventful happening, and she again finds herself having lunch with Kathryn.

“How did group go today?” her new friend asks as she nibbles on a French fry dunked in ketchup.

“Apparently Grumpy has now started calling me ‘The Evil Queen,’” Regina grumbles as she starts in on her California roll.    

“The Evil Queen? Grumpy? Have I just trespassed into a Disney movie?”

“At a guess, I’d say you have. Maybe your dog is Goldilocks and your boyfriend is Prince Charming.”

Kathryn makes a face. “I’m definitely not Snow White.”

“True. Guess that makes you Goldilocks then.”

“Ha ha.”

“I just have to keep ignoring them. I can’t let them know that they’re getting to me.”

“‘Them?’”

“Grumpy and that blonde who came in yesterday. Emma.”

“Oh, her.” There is something in Kathryn’s expression that Regina reads as a sort of knowing amusement.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“No reason.”

It’s a lie. Regina’s eyes narrow for a moment while they look at each other. She doesn’t know why Kathryn won’t just say what she’s implying, but she gets the sense that badgering her about it won’t help either. No matter the reason, it sours Regina on the conversation, and she returns to only speaking enough to keep from being rude.

Once she can escape from the awkwardness that is the rest of lunch, she heads to the gym for the first time. It’s a nice facility with plenty of equipment, but she has only just started looking around when she stops dead in her tracks. Oh hell. Emma is there in a pair of black leggings and a red sports bra, punching the shit out of a heavy bag. No wonder she has arms that look like that.

Regina wouldn’t mind being able to use a punching bag at that moment herself, but instead, she turns very purposely toward the treadmills on the far side of the room and starts running on one. She sets the speed and incline higher than she normally would and it doesn’t take long before she’s breathing hard. At least that gives her something to focus on besides the other woman.

Eventually, she has to slow down. She’s too winded to keep at her current pace, so she stabs at the downward speed button until she’s just jogging. A sensation of being watched prickles at the back of her neck, and she looks up to find Emma has finished with the punching bag. She’s removed her gloves and is unwrapping her hands while giving Regina the eye. It feels like a challenge, and Regina can’t let a challenge go. She stares right back, raising an eyebrow at Emma like she’s telling her, “ _Bring it on, Blondie!”_

Emma just smirks, grabs a towel and walks off toward the locker room. Regina wants to throw something at the back of her head, but the only thing she has is her own towel, and there’s no way it will fly that far. All she can do is growl and keep working out with a fury until she can’t work out any more.

By the time she’s done, her legs feel like jelly and she knows she’s going to be sore the next day. Her struggles of late have meant that she’s let her physical fitness slip and she’s going to pay for the overexertion. Even so, it helped. She’s too tired to be frustrated and when she settles under a hot shower back in her room, there is almost a feeling of contentment. After the shower, she curls up in the window seat with a blanket and closes her eyes.

She doesn’t even have to use the techniques Archie gave her in order to fall asleep. The exertion from her workout, the relaxation of the shower, and the comfy cushioned nook all combine to lull her into a doze. The alarm wakes her in time for her afternoon session with Dr. Hopper and this time she’s more alert, even if she’s walking somewhat stiffly when she enters.

“Good afternoon, Regina,” he greets. “You look like you feel better today.”

“I do.” She takes a seat in the chair waiting for her, and settles in.

“That’s excellent. Have you gotten a chance to go over the exercises I gave you?”

“I read through the papers, but I didn’t have an opportunity to practice very much.”

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities while you’re here to use the tools we give you and find out what works and what doesn’t. Do you have any questions for me?”

She shakes her head.

“Okay then. Are there any other issues that I might be able to help with?”

Regina wonders if he’s spoken to Belle about what happened between her and Leroy. Maybe she should mention the grumpy bastard, and ask what to do about him. She looks down at her hands and clenches them together to keep from tapping her fingers.

“Is it…common, to not get along with people in your group sessions?”

“Oh yes. It can be. You’re all from different walks of life with different backgrounds, beliefs, and personalities. It’s inevitable that there will be some friction, especially at the beginning.”

“Should I just ignore it then?”

“It would be best if you’d talk about it, either with the person or people you’re having conflict with, or you can bring it up with the group. If you don’t feel ready for that, you can tell me what’s been happening and I can offer suggestions.”

“I’ll think about it,” she says, not quite ready to commit to that.

It would be embarrassing to bring the subject up in group and would make her look weak for not being able to handle something so minor. However, just the idea of talking to Grumpy one-on-one makes her fidget. It’s the last thing she wants to do. If she could solve the problem by transferring to another group she would, but she doesn’t think Archie would allow her do it. That would be running away from a problem rather than confronting it and it’s been pretty clear that she’s not supposed to run away from her problems. She’ll just have to cross her fingers and hope that things won’t get worse before they get better.


	5. Chapter 5

When she gets back to her room that evening, Regina undresses and slips into bed. Archie has given her some more exercises and a few articles to read through, so she focuses on that for a bit. Eventually though, she puts it all down and turns off the light.

She closes her eyes and lays there in the dark, wanting to sleep but not feeling tired. Her mind keeps replaying the events of the day whether she wants it to or not. The comment from Leroy haunts her particularly, but she also finds herself dwelling on the conversation with Kathryn. All the things she should have said, all the things she wants to say, she finds herself obsessing about them over and over again. Her frustration grows with every passing moment that sleep refuses to come. She’s going to have to try to keep from taking post-lunch naps in the future. 

Recalling the meditation techniques Archie wanted her to try, she starts with grounding. She attempts to quiet her mind, to envision roots growing from her body down into the earth, and the transfer of bad energy out, while bringing good energy in. It’s successful for a few minutes, but the distracting thoughts seep back in, battering at the empty space she’d created in her mind. Finding it hard to concentrate any longer, she abandons meditation and goes back to the ‘could haves’ and ‘should haves.’ 

It takes a few more hours before she’s finally exhausted enough to drop off to sleep, and that lasts only a little while before she wakes from a nightmare, caught up and thrashing around in a tangle of her bedding. Momentary panic sets in while she fights with the blankets until she manages to get herself free. She lays there, shaking and waiting for her heart rate to slow, and her craving for alcohol has never been stronger.

A minute passes, then two, while she buries her face in her pillow. Then she gets up with a little groan, her muscles having stiffened up further from her workout earlier in the day, and starts her usual pacing. The intrusive thoughts are back with a vengeance and she focuses as hard as she can on Archie’s stop sign method.

That seems to work somewhat better than the meditation had, but she’s still agitated. She counts and paces, then paces and counts. At last she picks up a book and tries to read. Sleep doesn’t find her again until the sun rises, by which point she is curled back up in the window seat, wishing for it all to be over. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she just won’t wake up again.

 

Regina opens her eyes and peers at the beeping alarm clock with utter loathing. Unfortunately for her, her luck has never been particularly good and she finds herself still among the land of the living. Either that or she’s in hell. It’s a tossup at this point.

She moves through her day on auto-pilot, avoiding everyone except for the people she’s required to interact with. Grumpy is still glaring at her at every opportunity, but at least he hasn’t said anything to her or about her that she’s heard, so she spends the group time ignoring him. Outside of group, her resting bitch face game must be strong because everyone else gives her a wide berth, including Kathryn. That’s fine with her.

She’s even twitchy and irritable with Archie. He tries to get her to open up and talk about what is bothering her, but she’s not feeling it. Seeing her state of mind, he just reminds her that he’s there for her to talk to any time she needs it, and moves on to some new things he wants her to work on.

The evening she spends back in the window seat, just staring out across the lawn outside. She doesn’t feel like doing anything, not even reading. Breathing seems like too much most of the time. She really wants a drink. Instead, she’s stuck there in the silence, listening to the voices of her demons.

It’s too much of an effort to relocate from the window seat to the bed at bedtime, so she just closes her eyes and prays for sleep to claim her. After a while it does, but it’s fitful and provides little rest. She has to drag herself up in the morning, and only after a cup of coffee does she feel like she might stay conscious during group.

When she walks in, Emma is already there chatting with one of the other women. She looks up when Regina passes and their gazes catch for a moment. Before Regina can even process what she’s feeling, Emma turns back to her conversation. Nobody talks to Regina when she takes her usual seat, but she doesn’t have to sit too long in silence before Belle arrives.

“Okay guys,” she says to get their attention, “we have one new addition to the group today. Say ‘hello’ to Marco.”

“Hi, Marco,” everyone greets in almost unison. He smiles and nods to them.

“Hello, everyone.”

Belle has them all make their introductions and then sets them an activity. Regina is paired with the new-comer, who seems kind and soft-spoken, though sad. After the activity, the group moves back into a circle to talk about triggers.

“So, who here uses drink to lessen feelings of anxiety or stress?”

Almost every hand goes up.

“What about to change your mood? To make you feel happy, or at least less sad?”

Again, most members of the group raise their hands.

“Self-medication is a very common reason for alcohol use. We don’t want to face our problems or maybe we’re trying to escape from trauma. Numbing the pain is preferable to experiencing it full on.” There’s a chorus of nods. “Part of our work here is to provide a safe and supportive space for you to explore those feelings with other people who’ve been where you are. Would anyone like to share something that makes them reach for a drink instead of looking for a healthier solution?”

“Loneliness,” Marco says right away. All eyes turn to him. “I lost my boy,” he tells them, his voice cracking a little. “It’s been almost two years, but the house is still so empty without him.”

Belle offers him a sympathetic smile. “That’s a good example, Marco. If you don’t mind sharing with us, when you turned to alcohol were you drinking in bars to find social interaction, or were you drinking at home to distract you from that emptiness?”

“Mostly at home.”

Regina wants to give him a hug. She recognizes that look in his eyes.

Belle asks the group for other reasons they use alcohol. They suggest the normal range of replies: work stress, money troubles, fighting with family members, frustration, past abuse, parents who drank, looking for something to mellow them out, social drinking that gets out of control, the list goes on.

“How many of you drink mostly at home?” Belle asks the group.

Regina raises her hand and is surprised at how many of the others do too. There are only a few who don’t, though Emma is one of them. She doesn’t strike Regina as a party girl, but then, maybe Emma’s one of those creatures that frequent dive bars, drinking alone until they can’t see straight and then convincing themselves that they’re okay to drive home. That fits with the narrative that the woman tells during her introduction to new group members of wrecking her car. It also explains why she seems to get along with Leroy. He’s certainly the dive bar kind.

“It’s important that when you return home, you make it the sort of space that helps instead of hinders your path to sobriety. We’re going to work on setting some specific goals right now for that eventuality.”

Belle hands out a worksheet for them to list their goals and notes on, and Regina goes through the motions. She doesn’t really think she’ll need to take drastic measures like purging her alcohol collection, but she jots that down anyway. It’s not like she’s signing her soul over to the devil. She doesn’t have to do what the paper says later on.

After they’re done with that set of goals, they work on new goals to help them avoid triggers when out socially. If only Regina was able to avoid her family…

Most of Regina’s social drinking is done either at charity events or family get togethers. Having to share a space with her mother for more than a few minutes is what usually makes Regina desperate for a drink, though Zelena is often a contributing factor. It’s a subject she should probably bring up in her session with Archie that afternoon, because once she works through her grief over losing Roland and the confidence issues attached to it, she knows that the next hurdle will be dealing with Cora.

Their group session ends at last and Regina folds the notes neatly so that she can slip them into her pocket. Her attention is grabbed by Marco, who has gone over to talk to Belle, and so she isn’t paying attention as she walks to the door. While she’s distracted, she collides with something stout and hairy that growls at her, “Hey, Your Majesty. Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

She turns her head to find Grumpy glaring at her once again before he turns and marches out. She stands there bemused as a few others file out, giving her looks of commiseration or downright amusement as they go. After everyone but Belle and Marco have filed out, both still engaged in their conversation, she slips out of the room and goes to her own.

Regina’s a basket case of feelings as she wraps up in her blanket in the window seat, and before she even knows what’s happening, she’s sobbing. What should be cathartic just makes her feel weak and she hates herself more for the tears. She’s always hated things that make her cry. Cora has seen to that.

By the time she goes to see Archie, she’s regained her composure but her emotions are still raw. He’s typing something into his computer when she enters and after he glances up at her, he abandons what he was doing to give her his full attention.

“You look like you need to talk.”

She nods, but once she sits in the chair opposite him, she can’t find the words. Archie waits patiently for her to begin but she just stares down at her hands, clenched tight in her lap, and tries not to start crying again.

“Did something happen this morning?”

She nods again.

“Was it related to the question you asked the other day? About not getting along with people in your group.”

Another nod.

“Okay. I’m ready to listen whenever you feel ready to talk about it. Take your time.”

The silence that settles between them feels oppressive, though Regina knows that’s not Archie’s fault. Her thoughts are a tangle, but after another few minutes, she finally says, “There’s a guy in my group who doesn’t like me at all.” She doesn’t look up to see Archie’s face. “I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything to him.”

“How do you know he doesn’t like you?”

“He’s always glaring at me and on the first day I was there, he interrupted me when I was sharing what my small group came up with during an exercise. I called him out on it. Then, the other day he called me ‘The Evil Queen.’”

“And how did that make you feel?”

Regina clenches her jaw. “It pissed me off!”

“That’s a perfectly understandable reaction. What did you feel besides the anger?”

She has to think about that for a few seconds, because talking about it has made her furious with Leroy again. “I feel…like he doesn’t respect me as a person.” Archie nods. “And I feel powerless,” she says quieter, as tears threaten again.

“Is that powerlessness something you’ve felt before?”

She bites her lip and nods.

“Can you tell me the first time you felt that way?”

Regina thinks back over all the times in her life that she’s felt powerless. It’s a daunting list, though as she ponders it, one memory from her younger years stands out.

“The first time I can remember, I had found a bottle of nail polish in the house somewhere. I wanted to make my fingernails look pretty, like my mother’s, so I put the bottle on top of the little dresser next to my bed and started to paint my nails. Or, more likely, the end of my fingers because I was probably about three. When Mother came in, she started yelling at me and in my panic, I knocked the polish over onto the top of the dresser. She shook me and screamed about the mess, and I was crying.” She has to stop and take a tissue to wipe her nose and dab at her eyes. “I couldn’t understand what was so horrible about wanting to be pretty like her.”

“There was nothing at all wrong with it. You wanted your mother to be proud of you, to be loved and accepted by her, and it’s okay to be upset that you were punished instead.”

“It is?”

“Of course it is. Any child needs love and affection to flourish. Your mother’s reaction was over and above what was called for in that situation.”

Regina has to process that, but it feels good to finally have some validation that her feelings aren’t wrong. “There were so many times like that. I can’t even recall them all now.”

“Do you happen to remember whether your nervous tics started before or after that incident?”

There’s another pause while she searches her memory. “After. I think.”

Archie nods as if that makes sense and jots down a note.  “Are there any more experiences that you want to share with me? Or any other things you were feeling when you had your interactions with the person in your group?”

She shakes her head.

“All right. What I’d like you to do, if you feel up to it, is to address this in your next group session. I want you to tell him how his interruptions and name calling make you feel. Don’t call him names, as much as I know you’d like to.” Regina has to chuckle and nod at that. “Just say, ‘When you interrupt me, I feel…’ and tell him how you feel. Belle will help you if you need her to and remember, you’re not wrong for feeling that way.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Why not?”

She shifts uncomfortably. It’s hard for her to say the reason out loud, but she’s already admitted more than that, so what the hell? “Because I feel like if I bring it up in group, it will make me look weak.”

“Can you tell me more about why you feel like that?”

“I just,” she stalls for a minute, then lets her thoughts out in a rush, “I just think that I should be able to ignore him. That if I bring it up, it shows that I’m not strong enough to take it.”

“Being strong and having power appear to be a reoccurring theme here. Was that something that was placed in high regard by your mother?”

“Yes. That’s why she wanted me to be a doctor - though she wanted me to be a neurosurgeon. It was my great act of rebellion to specialize in cardiology and go to work at a children’s hospital.”

“What was her reaction to your decision?”

“About what you’d expect. She threatened to disown me, but Daddy talked her out of it. I think he felt bad that he hadn’t done more when I was younger.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I would have been better off if she had disowned me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she wouldn’t still be trying to control my life. She has my sister spy on me and then uses that information to make up excuses to butt in every chance she gets.”

“People like your mother will try to manipulate you to get what they want. Your father’s intercession might have played a part, but I think she was using the threat of disowning you to make you do what she wanted and when you stood your ground, she backed off to try something else. From the things you’ve told me, she wouldn’t have let you go so easily.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she says, feeling dismal.

“We’ll work on setting boundaries with her going forward and helping you learn to reinforce them. For the immediate future, I’d like you to just focus on working out your problems with the member of your group. It’s not weakness to share your feelings with others. In fact, it takes quite a bit of strength to do so.”

That goes against everything that Regina has been taught over the years, but she nods anyway. The thought of talking about her feelings in front of a group of people - particularly a group that contains Emma - makes her want to bury herself in a hole and never come out again, but she’s also getting fed up with Leroy’s bullshit. If the only way to make it stop is to talk about her feelings, she’ll have to suck it up and do it.

It’s with that thought in mind that she walks into her next group session. Things go smoothly for a while and her resolve wavers. She’s convinced that she _will_ look like a psychopath if she calls him out just for glowering at her, but before the end of the session, he gives her the perfect opportunity.

Their main topic of discussion for the day is the short- and long-term effects of alcohol on the human body - something that Regina knows a lot about. She has just found the confidence to speak up and answer one of the questions posed by a fellow group member when Leroy contradicts her. Regina fixes him with an unflinching stare and says, “With all due respect, I know what I’m talking about. I didn’t spend four years in medical school to be lectured on a substance’s effect on human physiology by a layman. Particularly one who is trying to share information that is wrong. Furthermore, your interruptions, asides, and name calling make me feel disrespected and dehumanized. I would appreciate it if you would stop.”

There is a moment of shocked silence that is broken only by the loud clapping of Marco from the seat beside her. Leroy has the grace to look embarrassed and he breaks eye contact. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Thank you, Regina, for sharing your feelings with us.” Belle gave her an encouraging smile, “I think this is a good opportunity for us to segue into a conversation about resolving conflict in a healthy way. Leroy, you’ve heard how your behavior toward Regina makes her feel. How did hearing that make you feel?”

He rubs at the back of his neck and studies the floor. “Um. Embarrassed.”

“Regina has there been an occasion since you joined the group when you’ve been embarrassed by something Leroy said?”

“Yes, the day he called me the Evil Queen.”

There is surprise on Belle’s face. She’d missed that one after all. “Leroy, is there a particular reason why you’ve been giving Regina a hard time?”

He’s quiet for half a minute, but then he looks up at her finally and says, “She looks like one of the stuck-up society bitches my ex used to hang out with. They were the reason she dumped me.”

Well then. Regina could almost laugh at the fact he’s mistaken her for the sort of woman her mother has always wanted her to be. She would have if she wasn’t still so pissed off at him. She also guesses that his ex’s friends weren’t the only reason she dumped him, but she manages not to say that out loud.

Belle says, “Thank you for your honest answer. I can see that you have a lot of anger toward the ending of your relationship. Would you like to share your experiences with us?”

Regina doesn’t expect that he will - mostly because she wouldn’t - but to her surprise, Leroy only shows a slight hesitation before launching into his story. By the end, even she feels sorry for him. A little. Regina can empathize with the pain of not being able to be with a person you love. She’d been angry at the world for a long time after Daniel died, and she’d turned toward substances to numb the pain like Leroy did. The difference was that Leroy turned much of his destructive energy outward, while she turned hers inward.

Belle asks if any of the others can relate to his experiences, and Regina tentatively raises her hand. Leroy’s expression shows his surprise momentarily before becoming more neutral again. Belle smiles at her.

“Regina, do you want to tell your story?”

“Not…all of it, but when I was in my teens, my mother drove away the only boy I’ve ever loved.” She can’t look at anyone, so she looks down at the floor when she says, “He died.”

There’s silence in the circle so she risks a look up at Leroy. “My mother is one of those society bitches that you hate, but I’m not.” Though she can often pretend to be when she has to.

Leroy nods, and the tension in the room eases.

After they’re released from the session, Emma stops her in the hallway just outside the room. “Hey, that was really brave what you did in there today.” She holds out her hand, “I’m Emma.”

Regina can only stare at her, and then down at her outstretched hand. Emma gets a chagrined look on her face and starts to pull it back. “You, uh, you knew that already. Sorry.”

“No! No…I mean, um, yes, I did,” she grabs Emma’s hand and shakes it. “I’m sorry. You caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Closer up, she notices how green Emma’s eyes are and then she curses internally at herself. This is going to be Mal all over again; she just knows it.

“It’s okay.” Emma’s lips curve into a brief smile. “I’m sorry that I laughed the other day. Leroy’s kind of a dick but everyone sorta accepts that about him. I didn’t realize how much the stuff he said bothered you.”

“I accept your apology.”

“Great,” the smile is back, “well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Emma turns and walks away, leaving Regina standing there watching until she’s gone. This is bad. This is really bad. “Get a grip on yourself, Mills,” she mutters as she heads off to her room.


	6. Chapter 6

Getting a grip on herself is easier said than done. Regina Mills has a type and Emma is it. At least things in group have eased up since that day with Leroy. There’s less noticeable tension and sessions seem to be more productive, more fun. For her part, Regina is more comfortable sharing, though she still doesn’t share too much. She comments bits and pieces when there is something that she’s had experience with. One day, she notices that Emma is talking more too.

“I never knew my bio parents,” she says in a discussion about family relationships, “I was in the system until I aged out. Then I lived on the streets for a while. Stole a car. Did time.” There’s a somewhat lengthy pause, then she lifts her chin. Just like Regina does when Cora tells her to stop feeling sorry for herself. “I don’t really have any family relationships.”  

“You’ve got us,” one of the other women says. She’s a mousy brunette named Shauna, who always strikes Regina as the last person she would have expected to find in rehab. “We can be your chosen family.”

“Well, we’re certainly dysfunctional enough,” Regina says, and several people laugh.

“It’s good to think of this group like a family, actually,” Belle tells them when the laughs die out. “Building connections will help you feel supported and on track to finish out your programs. Of course, there will be bumps along the way but that’s common in every family.”

 _Some more than others._ But Regina is mostly happy to think of these people as a family of sorts. It’s better than thinking about Mother, or even Zelena.

After group that day, she meets up with Kathryn to have lunch. The two of them have settled back into the friendly relationship that they had before Regina got her nose bent out of shape, and she finds that it’s nice to have someone outside her group, Archie, or Belle to talk with. Particularly one as intelligent and well-read as Kathryn. They’re just in the middle of a discussion about the complexities of morality in _Crime and Punishment_ when Emma walks up.

“Hey.”

Regina looks at her and smiles, “Hi.” She sees Kathryn giving her the eye, and introduces them to each other, “Emma this is Kathryn. Kathryn, Emma.”

The two shake hands.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Kathryn says. “I’ve seen you around.”

“Same here.” Emma grins, then looks back at Regina. “I’m headed to the gym in a little bit. I thought you might want to go and blow off some steam.”

Aware that Kathryn’s watching their exchange with interest, she tries to put on a mask of nonchalance. “Sure. That sounds like a good idea.”

“Great! See you then. Bye, Kathryn.”

“Bye, Emma.”

Regina waits until Emma’s out of earshot before turning to her friend with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

“Did I say anything?”

“No, but you were thinking awful loudly.”

Kathryn laughs. “If I was thinking so loudly, you should already know what I was thinking.”

“Hmm.”

Regina forces herself not to abandon the rest of her lunch, lest she play right into Kathryn’s knowing smirk, but she does eat a little more quickly than normal. As a result, their conversation is more one-sided and when she rises to go, Kathryn teases, “Have fun on your date.”

The heat rises to Regina’s cheeks. “It’s not a date!”

“Whatever you say,” Kathryn waves her off with that insufferable grin. “Go.”

Shooting her a dirty look, Regina clears her half of the table and then exits the room slowly. Once she’s past the door, she takes off, rushing to her room to change.

 _I’m an idiot. I am an_ idiot! She should not be allowing herself to have a crush on this woman. Absolutely not. There are so many reasons it’s a bad idea, but she also can’t rationalize the feelings away. They remain no matter what she does to distract herself. She knows that it is going to end in pain, just the way allowing herself to get attached to Roland had.

She mutters at herself the entire time that she’s changing into workout clothes, and part of the way down the hall to the gym. Once she nears it, she forces the dialog to go internal and when she sees Emma again, thinking stops entirely.

She’d been prepared for the sports bra. Hell, she was secretly hoping to see it again. What she is not at all prepared for are the booty shorts. Her eyes drift all the way down the mostly bare legs and back up again before she can focus on Emma’s face.

“Ready to get sweaty?” Emma asks, the familiar look of challenge on her face. Regina only just manages to keep from saying something inappropriate.

“I’m ready when you are.”

Regina really does think she’s ready, but she soon finds out that she isn’t. Emma is in such amazing shape for a reason. After a brief warm-up, she starts off by setting a grueling pace on the treadmill and huffs a short laugh when Regina has to dial it back. Stretching afterward is a welcome reprieve, but the reprieve doesn’t last very long. By the time they’ve gone through a weight training circuit, she’s trying to hide just how wobbly her legs are. She suspects that she hasn’t done a very good job of hiding it when Emma insists on walking her back to her room.

“You got a window seat? That’s not fair. I didn’t get a window seat!” Emma strides over to admire Regina’s view of the manicured lawn outside. “I just have a window with a view of the stupid courtyard.”

“That’s actually my favorite place to sit.” And sleep, Regina doesn’t add, feeling self-conscious as she leans against the wall. She’s tired, and exhilarated, and scared shitless at having Emma in her room. It’s a disconcerting combination.

“I can see why.”

Emma plunks down and picks up the book that Regina left there that morning before heading to group. “ _Meditations_ by Marcus Aurelius? You are really a nerd, aren’t you?” she looks up with a grin at Regina, who is immediately defensive.

“I’m not a nerd!”

“Seriously? Marcus Aurelius?” She drops the book back into its place and propels herself back to her feet. She walks over, pauses very close to Regina and murmurs in her ear, “I’m more of a Sun Tzu fan, myself.” With that, Emma winks and saunters out of the room, leaving Regina staring after her with a dazed look on her face. “See ya later, Regina!”

“Later,” she mumbles in return. She doesn’t know what she expected Emma to say after calling her a nerd, but it certainly wasn’t that. She’s still puzzling over the enigma that is Emma when she makes her way to her session with Archie.

“You look a little preoccupied today,” he comments as she sits down.

“I am,” she admits.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

She frowns for a moment, staring into the middle distance as she tries to figure out how to word her question.

“As a doctor, I’m well aware of the ethical implications of forming romantic attachments to patients. I would assume that forming that sort of attachment to a fellow patient in treatment is likewise frowned upon?”

Archie has to think that one over for a minute. “Well, that’s an interesting question.” He crosses one leg over the other and steeples his fingers under his chin. “Mostly I’m inclined to say that you shouldn’t pursue a romantic connection while you’re here - especially when you have so many things still to work through - because it can become a distraction. On the other hand, having a partner with whom you share a common experience and who understands your challenges when you’re back out in the ‘real world’ can be beneficial. I’m assuming from your question that you’ve developed feelings for someone?”

“Yes. I think so, anyway, but I don’t know if the feelings are reciprocated.”

“That can be a challenge. You have so many emotions careening around. I think the healthiest thing for you is to focus on yourself right now, and if you’re interested in pursuing something after you’re through with your program, then you should be in a much better place to do it.”

His advice makes sense to Regina, and she nods her agreement. Emma is a distraction, though a pleasant one. It’s going to be even harder now to stay focused on her treatment but Regina is determined to give it her best.

Archie’s watching her, giving her some time to process his words then says, “When we did your intake, you said that it’s been a while since you’ve had a romantic relationship.”

“It has.”

“Have you considered that might also be part of the reason why you’re feeling these things? As you open up more and become more vulnerable, you may be interpreting your connection with another patient as romantic or sexual as a way to fulfill a need that you’ve been repressing.”

She supposes that’s not impossible, though she hates to think that what she’s feeling for Emma might just be a temporary itch because there hasn’t been anyone else in her life for years. “I hadn’t considered that, no. Do you really think that’s what it is?”

“It’s hard to say but we can’t discount the possibility. When was the last time you were in a serious relationship?”

“I guess that depends on what you mean by a ‘serious relationship.’”

“Generally, that means one that was more than casual, or with someone with whom you were particularly attached.”

“That has been a while.” She sighs and taps her fingertips on the arm of her chair. “When I was an undergrad, I had a desperate crush on one of my professors. She was a brilliant theoretical chemist, but she was wasting her talents teaching introductory and mid-level courses to bored students who, for the most part, were just taking them to fulfill degree requirements. I walked into her class having devoured one of the books she’d published years before, and on the first day I was both star-struck and completely smitten. It didn’t hurt that she looked like a movie star from the golden age of Hollywood.”

Regina smiles at the memory, though there is a little tug of sadness at the same time. “She was the first person I had felt those feelings for since I’d lost my boyfriend, Daniel.”

“What happened?”

“With her, or with Daniel?”

“Both, I suppose, but I was referring to your professor.”

“Let’s just say that I helped her rediscover her passion for chemistry, because we had a lot of it. It was a torrid affair that lasted for a couple years. Until I graduated and she found a more prestigious job. She still contacts me from time to time, but it’s been a while since I’ve heard from her.”

“And there hasn’t been anyone more recent?”

She shakes her head. “I buried myself in school, then in my residency, and later in my practice. I’m not a nun, there have been casual encounters from time to time, but nothing serious. I can’t even remember the last time I felt this way.”

“Well, we never know when and where love is going to find us. I think if you take things slowly, the best road forward for you will become clear on its own.”

“Patience is not really one of my virtues.”

Archie smiles. “Then look at this as another chance to better yourself.”

Regina sighs, but all the same, she knows he is right.

**

The next day Emma joins Regina and Kathryn for lunch. She has enough food on her tray to feed two people, and Regina watches with growing amazement as she methodically works on eating it all.

“So,” she says between bites to Regina, “you said before that you went to medical school. Are you a doctor then?”

Regina hesitates for just a beat, then nods. She hasn’t really opened up more than that to the group, but she finds that she trusts the two women sitting there with her. “I’m a surgeon. My license could be on the line if that was common knowledge, so that’s why I don’t talk about it much. Leroy just had me so fed up that it came out before I could think about it.”

“I understand. Well, if it makes you feel any better, I guess I’m kinda in the same boat. I’m a deputy sheriff, and my sheriff rushed me here after my accident so that he wouldn’t have to can me. He couldn’t have done that if I’d hit something other than a tree, but as it is…” she shrugs. “I wasn’t exactly in a place to argue.”

Kathryn and Regina both nod, and Emma looks at Kathryn next. “What do you do, Kathryn? If you don’t mind sharing.”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“I can see why you’d drink then.”

Kathryn laughs. “You joke, but you’re not wrong. It can get pretty stressful. Before this, I didn’t have many healthy coping mechanisms.”

“And now Kathryn is a walking poster child for the wonders of rehab,” Regina teases her.

“One day you, too, will earn that milkshake.”

Regina snorts and Emma raises her eyebrows at the two of them. “I think I missed something.”

“Inside joke,” Kathryn tells her.

“Right...”

“Hey, Emma, can we skip the gym today? I’m really sore.”

“We could go swimming instead.”

There’s a thought. Regina hasn’t been swimming yet, though she peeked in to check out the facility once. “I suppose we could do that.” She doesn’t know if she’ll survive seeing Emma in a bathing suit, but it can’t be any more swoon-inducing than the sports bra and booty shorts had been.

“Great. Kathryn, want to join us?”

“I wish I could. Unfortunately, I won’t have time.”

“Shame. Guess it’s just Regina and me then.” She shoots Regina a smile that has the butterflies flitting around in her belly.

“You two will have fun.” Kathryn is wearing a knowing little smirk and Regina feels the heat rising to her cheeks. She really wishes she would stop that.  

**

Regina should have known that things were going along too well. She’s let her guard down too far, so of course that is life’s cue to drop an anvil on her head.

Emma has lunch with her and Kathryn every day now, followed by intense training sessions in the gym. Regina has finally stopped feeling so sore afterward, and she’s sleeping better than she has in ages. On occasion, she still wakes to nightmares that leave her sweating and shaking, but there are fewer intrusive thoughts keeping her awake for hours afterward.

Even Archie has noticed, and perhaps that’s why, when she shows up for her session one afternoon, he is toying with a sealed envelope. It’s obviously a letter of some sort. She can’t explain her sudden feelings of trepidation until he lays the envelope down before her and she sees the familiar handwriting of the address. It’s a letter from her mother.

“This came for you a couple of days ago and I was trying to decide whether I should give it to you now or wait a little longer. It is, of course, your prerogative to read or not read any mail that comes for you. If you would rather wait until later to read it, that would actually be my recommendation. However, the choice is up to you. I’m here to help you talk through it if you need to.”

Regina just stares at the letter as though it’s waiting to bite her, and in a way, she supposes it is. There’s a tremor in her hand when she reaches out for the envelope and picks it up. Archie wants her to wait, but if she does, will it be better…or worse? She looks at him for a while, then slowly rips the envelope open. It’s not going to get any easier if she waits.

She unfolds the letter with a certain amount of trepidation, and then she reads. It’s every bit as bad as she expected. Her hands are not the only thing that’s shaking by the time she’s done and the paper nearly drops from nerveless fingers as a flood of anxiety envelops her.

“Regina?” Archie’s voice sounds like it’s far away as she struggles to find her breath. She’s sobbing and because of it, she can’t get enough air into her lungs. “Regina, I want you to focus on my voice and breathe. Come on. Take a breath in and let it out slowly. Like this: breathe in.” She struggles to comply but she does finally manage to suck in a shaky breath.

“Good. Now breathe out…1. 2. 3.”

She can’t really measure how much time it takes with her focusing on the sound of his voice telling her how to breathe, but eventually the pressure on her chest eases a bit, and her heart stops thundering like a herd of rampaging elephants. Archie is squatting next to her chair, and he gives her a smile and a gentle squeeze to her arm before getting up to get her a glass of water. Cora’s letter is setting on the desk but Regina doesn’t recall whether she dropped it or whether Archie took it out of her unresisting hands and put it there.

Even glancing at that letter brings tears of shame to her eyes, and she wants nothing more than to hide, to bury herself under a dozen blankets and not come back out for several weeks, if then.

“Here,” Archie presses the glass and a pill into her hand, “this should help.”

Regina takes the pill and drinks the water automatically, her hand still trembling when she places the glass on his desk next to the letter.

“I’m going to assume that your mother spent several pages calling you weak and berating you for seeking help?” he has worded it as a statement, but the intonation is definitely questioning. She nods.

“Did she threaten you at all?”

“Not…as such.” The only thing Cora really has to threaten Regina with is going to the licensing board, but even she would hesitate to do that. She thinks. She hopes. “Just. She used a lot of guilt.”

“Does she do that often?”

“Yes.” Guilt has always been one of Cora’s favorite manipulation tactics to use against her and, even though Regina is aware of that, it still works.

“Regina, as much as your mother wants to make this all about her, it isn’t. Or, rather, it isn’t in the way she thinks. You’re trying to cope with and heal from trauma her abuse has caused you for years. That’s not _your_ fault, it’s hers.”

It’s hard for her to come to terms with that, but deep down, she knows that Archie’s right. “What do I do?” she feels lost, a lost little girl that is drowning in the dark, reaching out for any lifeline she can find.

“For starters, when your mother’s voice in your head tries to tell you that this is all your fault, you can tell her that you didn’t cause this. She did. Then, I’d like to you to start writing down every unwanted thought in a notebook and we’ll work through some responses to them together. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. I also want you to try to be as cognizant as you can of the feelings that this has stirred up. Write down any negative emotions you feel and then think about specific types of thoughts, actions, and situations that trigger them. The key is being as mindful as possible.”

Regina finds herself feeling irrationally afraid, but she nods. “Okay.”

“If you need any help, don’t hesitate to come talk to me. Unless I’m in a session with another patient, my door’s always open. If I’m not available, you can talk to Belle, one of the other counselors, or bring it up in group. Group might be particularly helpful, as some of your peers might have already worked through issues like these successfully.”

The idea of bringing this up with her group fills her with dread, but at the same time, family trouble is a regular topic of conversation in group. It’s just that it’s usually other people’s families. “I will.”

“Excellent. Now, what I want to do for the rest of the session is work on drafting a letter back to your mother,” he sees her panicked look and holds up a hand to calm her, “don’t worry, we’re not going to send it. I just want you to work through your response to her on paper because I think it will be a therapeutic exercise for you right now. We can even shred it afterward if that helps you feel more comfortable.”

She does what he’s asked her to do, though writing that letter is the hardest thing she’s ever done. Every word is a struggle even with Archie’s help. Like he had her do with the Leroy situation, he guides her through an expression of what Cora’s words have made her feel and then assists her in setting firm boundaries. In the end, she does shred the paper because she’s terrified to think about it actually being sent. Archie accepts her decision and calmly tells her that they’ll keep working through these feelings next session.

When she finally makes it back to her room, she kicks off her shoes and turns off the light. She wraps up in her blanket at the window seat and just stares numbly out the window. She doesn’t sleep and, in the morning, she forces herself to go to group, though she doesn’t participate. Emma and Belle both try to talk to her, but she only responds mechanically to tell them she’s fine.

Instead of following the routine that she’s been on recently, she instead goes back to her room and dozes for a while, too exhausted for the emptiness to keep her awake. At some point, Emma comes to knock on her door, but she ignores her and the knocking stops.

The next knock is Archie, and even though Regina knows she should answer it this time, she can’t summon the energy to do it. It doesn’t matter, because he uses his keycard to let himself in. “Regina?” he calls out softly, then spies her in her spot by the window. He drags her desk chair over to sit by her. “Emma came to get me because she was worried about you. How are you feeling today?”

She doesn’t answer, just shrugs the shoulder closer to him.

“The medication I gave you last night was to calm your anxiety, but I think that your reactions today warrant starting you on an antidepressant. Let me get you a glass of water.”

He rises and goes to get her water but she doesn’t move until he comes back and prompts her to sit up. It feels like the world’s most difficult thing to do, but at last she’s in a sitting position and he gives her the pill. She takes it without argument, then returns to staring out the window. Archie sits with her for a while, until she says, “All I want to do is sleep. Please leave me alone.”

He considers that. “All right, but I’m going to have Eric check up on you every few hours to make sure you’re okay and I want you to check in with me in the morning before group. Got it?”

She nods and nestles back down into her blanket. Archie stays a little while longer and she is asleep by the time the door opens and closes.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s a long, slow road out of the funk her mother has driven her into, but between the counselors, her group family, the medication, and Archie, Regina manages to claw her way toward something approaching happiness. Emma drags her to the gym every day, whether she wants to go or not, and Kathryn appoints herself in charge of making sure she eats. Even Leroy gets in on the act, telling her inappropriate jokes until he can get her to crack a smile.

Regina has never known this sort of support before, and she tries to push it away at first, withdrawing into her little space to become as unobtrusive as possible. She soon discovers that it doesn’t work here like it does in the real world. The more she tries to pull away, the more the others drag her back in.

“We’re all in this boat together,” Kathryn says in that too-cheerful way she has, “we’re not going to let you drown here.”

“Exactly what she said,” Emma chimes in, nudging her with her shoulder as she’s gotten used to doing, “we’ve got your back, Doc.”

The nickname is new and Regina isn’t quite sure how she feels about it, but she’d let Emma call her almost anything. She looks from one to the other with a watery grin. “Thank you. Both of you.”

“No thanks necessary. This is what friends do.”

Friends. They’re her friends. She wraps her brain around that for a minute, then grins at them. “Even if it’s not necessary, I’m grateful.”

“You’re welcome. Now eat your salad.”

**

The next bump in the road comes when it’s time for Kathryn to leave. It’s hard for both of them to hold back tears as Kathryn squashes her in a tight hug and says, “You’d better keep in touch or I’m going to come find you and kick you right in the butt.”

Regina laughs and says that she will. They’ve exchanged numbers and email addresses and Kathryn has made her promise to text when she finishes up her program. Even though she knows that they’re eventually all going to leave, Regina feels the empty space where Kathryn should be. She still eats lunch with Emma but the conversation lacks the spark of a third person’s energy.

“Learning how to let go is an important part of the experience of rehabilitation,” Archie says when she brings it up in her session with him that afternoon. “You form strong bonds while you’re here, and that’s good for your recovery, but you have to allow them to transition when it’s time. Things change and the more we can help you learn to be resilient when they do, the better off you’ll be.” 

She sits down that evening with a piece of paper and starts writing Kathryn a letter. In it, she thanks her for everything and for being the first friend she’s really had since college. There she pauses, tapping the cap of her pen against her lips because Gold is something of a friend too. She decides that since he’s her boss, he doesn’t quite count, and continues on with her letter. She’ll have to decide whether she wants to send it or not, but just writing all of her feelings out on paper really does make her feel better.

Shortly afterward, it starts to dawn on her just how little time she has left there herself. Only a couple of weeks. That’s when the realization that Emma will leave before her hits her like a ton of bricks. She’s going to go back out into her stressful, depressing life without the small rays of sunshine that she’s found, and for a while, she doesn’t know what she’s going to do.

“Hey, what’s up?” Emma asks the next day after group, bumping her with her shoulder as they walk toward the cafeteria. It’s funny how good she’s gotten at reading Regina’s moods.

“I just realized last night that we don’t have much longer ourselves.”

“That’s good though, right? I’m looking forward to getting out of here.”

“Yeah…you’re right.”

And so, she pretends it’s nothing. How can she tell her that she isn’t looking forward to leaving, when Emma clearly is? That’s the moment that she starts pulling away, distancing herself from that lifeline that she knows is going to be severed soon anyway.

Belle notices when she becomes argumentative and irritable in group and calls her out for it. After some urging, Regina admits that she’s scared of having to face her job and her mother without all of them there to help her.

“That’s incredibly common,” Belle assures her, “most everyone goes through some sort of emotional upheaval because it _is_ hard to let go. At the same time, you have to remember to be respectful to the rest of the group. It’s okay to be sad, so practice being sad without letting that sadness transform itself to anger.”

She nods, then catches Emma’s eye. Emma offers her a brief smile that gives her strength, and she smiles back.

**

Somehow, she keeps it together during Emma’s graduation day party, though afterward she doesn’t know how she managed. She hugs Emma just as hard as Kathryn had hugged her and just as Kathryn said to her, she says, “You’d better keep in touch or I’ll have to track you down.”

Emma laughs and says, “Of course I’ll keep in touch. Who else is going to knock you into shape if I don’t?”

Regina smiles and swallows the lump that has found its way to her throat. “I don’t know. Maybe I should hire you as my personal trainer.”

“There’s an idea,” she grins. “I can charge you $40 an hour for what I’ve been doing for free.”

“I’d pay it.” Regina hopes that doesn’t sound too desperate. She’ll pay a lot more than that if it guarantees that she can see Emma a few times a week.

“Maybe I’ll think about it.”

“If you do, let me know.”

“Sure.” Emma hugs her again and picks up her duffel bag. “You take care of yourself, Regina. And don’t let your mom walk all over you.”

“Okay.” Her voice breaks a little and Emma squeezes her arm. Then she follows Eric out of the building to meet the friend who’s supposed to be picking her up.

Regina watches until she’s gone, though she’s not quite sure what to do with herself after that. It’s almost lunch time but she can’t face going to eat on her own. She decides to go to the gym instead. There’s nobody inside when she gets there, so she walks to the punching bag and just stares at it for a while. Her first urge is to hit it until her knuckles are bleeding, but all she can do is lay her forehead against the vinyl as tears slip down her face.

She’s going to be okay. She has to keep telling herself that. There are only a few more days before she goes home too and she wants to make the most of the time she has left. There’s still work to do with Archie to make sure that she’s ready to face her demons. Stepping back, she wipes her eyes, then squares her shoulders. Emma would tell her to suck it up, so she does.

“I want you to help me with my mother,” she tells him when she gets to her session.

“Okay. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I think I have to be. We only have a couple sessions left and I want to be prepared for her.”

“All right then,” he says with an encouraging smile. “Let’s do this.”

**

It feels strange to be home. She drops her keys onto the table by the door and looks around the empty foyer; the house feels almost dauntingly empty after spending so much time surrounded by people. A thin layer of dust has settled in her absence. She sighs.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she ignores the staggering number of voice mail and text notifications from her mother. Eventually she’ll have to deal with those, but not right now. Instead, she pulls the little slip of paper out of her pocket and types in Emma’s number. After adding it to her contacts, she stares at the screen for a while. She takes a deep breath and hits the call button.

She fidgets while she waits for it to connect, the anxiety balling tight in her belly. It only eases when she hears the familiar voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Emma. It’s Regina. I just thought I’d call and let you know I made it home.” God, she hopes that doesn’t sound too idiotic. She covers her eyes with her hand and shakes her head, glad that Emma can’t see her.

“Yeah? Hey, that’s great! Congratulations for making it through.”

“Thanks. How are things there?”

“Oh. Y’know. Okay. Back to work. Trying to catch up on everything.”

“Yeah.” Regina isn’t sure if she’s looking forward to that, herself, but she knows she has to do it. She’s already been away from the hospital for too long. “Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to have coffee sometime? I know it’s a drive, but we could meet somewhere in the middle?”

“Um. Sure.” There’s a pause and an audible rustling of papers, presumably as Emma checks her calendar. “I’m working this weekend, but maybe next week? I can text you.”

“That would be great.” She can feel herself smiling already.

“Cool. Well, I need to go. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through.”

“Okay, take care, Emma.”

“You too! Bye.”

She stares at Emma’s name on her phone again before finally turning it off and slipping it into her back pocket.

Not wanting to let the emptiness of the house unnerve her, Regina distracts herself by taking her bags upstairs to start unpacking and cleaning up. The basic routines of life settle back in and make for a good distraction from her thoughts for a while.

She’d let Gold know earlier in the week that she would be home so she expects him to call at some point to discuss her workload and return to practice. What she doesn’t expect is for him to show up at her door.

“Afternoon, Regina. I trust you’re getting settled back in?” he glances around and she invites him into the kitchen so that she can make them some tea.

“I’m starting to. It’s strange to not have people around all the time.”

“Well, as soon as we can get everything sorted, you’ll have as much work as you can handle. You’ve been sorely missed.”

“You say the sweetest things,” she says with a chuckle. It’s nice to hear though. Gold isn’t usually effusive with his praise.

He settles onto one of her kitchen stools and watches her getting the tea ready, an easy silence between them until he breaks it. “Belle told me this morning that you made a lot of progress and she has high hopes for your recovery.”

“Oh?” her eyebrows raise in surprise as she looks at him. “I didn’t know that you knew Belle.”

It’s his turn to chuckle. “Well, you did sign a release form that allowed me to check up on your progress. That aside, she’s my girlfriend.” Regina’s continued look of surprise seems to amuse him greatly. “How’d you think I found that particular facility for you?”

“I didn’t really think about it,” she confesses. In all of the time they’ve worked together, he’s never mentioned having a girlfriend. Though they’ve never much talked about their private lives.  

“Don’t worry. She only kept me up to date on your progress. Any grousing you might have done about your horrible boss was kept mum.” He winks and adds cream and sugar to the tea she hands him. “Normally I wouldn’t have asked, but I was concerned about how my best surgeon was doing.”

“Your best surgeon,” she scoffs a little.

“That is what I said.” He fixes her with a serious stare. “I know losing the Locksley boy did a number on your confidence, but you need to get back on the horse and ride again. There are just some patients you’re going to lose, and I know you know that.”

Regina busies herself with her teacup for a moment to keep her emotions from showing, but she nods. “You’re right. I do.” Though knowing it and not letting it affect her are two different things. “When do you want me back?”

“I’ve got a couple of consults tomorrow morning and you’ll have to go have a talk with the credentialing committee. After that, I’m confident we can work you back into the rotation.”

She nods, grateful for the return to normalcy that will provide. “Sounds good.”

“Great. I’ll be glad to have you back.”

**

The visit that she’s been dreading comes the next day. Cora barges into her house uninvited, as she usually does, while Regina is fixing breakfast. “Why the hell haven’t you returned my calls or texts?”

“Good morning to you, Mother.” She tries to appear calm even though the anxiety is already beginning to gnaw at her.

“Three months in rehab and you didn’t bother to send me a message before, during, or after?”

“I didn’t exactly know that I was going until Gold told me I was and then I was a bit distracted. During my time there, I didn’t have access to technology so that I could focus on getting better. After…” _I didn’t want to have this conversation._ “I haven’t even been home a day and I’ve been trying to get everything back in order around here.”

“You ungrateful girl,” Cora hisses, “don’t you see that I care about you?”

“No, you don’t,” Regina loses control of the rage that’s simmering and she snaps back at her. “You’ve only ever cared about how I reflected on _you_.”

Dead silence lingers and Regina glares at Cora across the kitchen island.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, yes, it is true. It’s always been true. I was just so beaten down by your constant abuse that all I could do was roll over and take it. Well, I’m not taking it anymore!”

“Well.” Cora’s eyes glitter dangerously, “I see someone has been filling your head full of nonsense. That you’d say such things after all your father and I have done for you…”

“Just leave, Mother. I need to get ready for work and I don’t have time to argue with you.”

Cora leaves in a huff, but Regina isn’t naive enough to think that anything has changed. Still, there’s a mingled sense of accomplishment and dread at having stood up to her mother. She finally feels like the things that Archie worked through with her might actually be possible, even as the pessimistic part of her thinks she’s only made everything worse. At the very least, she’s bought herself a small window of peace and it’s in that small window that she gets ready for work and heads in to the hospital to face her first day back.

**

“Hey,” that slightly breathless, slightly rushed, but achingly familiar voice brings a smile blooming to Regina’s face even before she sees her.

“Hey!” She stands so that she can give Emma a hug. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“I got a call that kept me over late. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Regina’s gaze lingers appreciatively on the uniform Emma’s wearing. “No problem. I’m just glad you’re here.” She motions to the waitress who hurries over.

“What can I get for you?” she asks with a smile at Emma.

“I’ll have a hot chocolate with cinnamon and an order of strawberry pancakes, extra whipped cream.” She looks back and sees Regina’s expression, “What?”

“Nothing. I’ll just get ready for the sugar coma in 30 minutes.”

Emma snorts and the waitress giggles before saying to Regina, “You want anything else besides the coffee?”

“Yes, I’ll have a club sandwich. On wheat. With a cup of the broccoli soup.”

“Coming right up.”

She bustles off to get Emma’s cocoa, leaving the other two alone for the moment. “You look good,” Regina says. She’s used to seeing Emma in casual clothes and that was attractive enough. The deputy’s uniform definitely adds something.

“So do you. Oh, thanks,” Emma says as the waitress hands her the mug of cocoa. She wraps her hands around it, warming them. “You been doing okay?”

“Well, I had it out with Mother on the morning after I left the center. I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since. But,” she has a sip of her coffee, “the credentialing committee at the hospital has cleared me to continue admitting and performing surgeries there, so I’m starting to get back into the swing of things.”

Her gaze has drifted down to Emma’s hands on her mug. “It’s a little rough sometimes, but I’m working on it.” She looks up so that their eyes meet again. “Do you feel like that?”

“Not as much as I did before…but yeah.”

“I’m glad I’m not alone.”

“You’re definitely not alone.” Emma reaches across to put one of her now warmed palms atop Regina’s hand, and Regina can feel the heat rising to her cheeks. “I mean it. If you need me, call.”

Regina doesn’t know what to say. She’s caught between gratitude and not showing how flustered Emma’s touch is making her. “Thank you,” she says with a little rasp in her voice, “I will.”

“Good.” Emma withdraws her hand to wrap it back around her mug, and Regina wishes that she hadn’t. It felt wonderful to have even that simple touch.

“Have you started your outpatient group yet?” she asks, searching for a topic to cover her disappointment.

“Yeah, this week. It was far less eventful than ours was.” She smirks and Regina has to laugh.

“I think that’s probably a given.”

“You’re right. Without you and Leroy there battling it out.” The waitress comes with their food, and they both watch as she sets the plates on the table. “When do you start yours?”

“Next Tuesday. I’m hoping for the best.”

Emma nods while spreading an impressive amount of butter on her pancakes. Their talk turns to Emma’s job - she’s got new stories of the crazy life of a small-town police officer to share - and Regina adds a few anecdotes from the hospital that the nurses had regaled her with on her return. Time goes far too quickly and leaves them standing awkwardly at Regina’s car.

“We should do this again soon,” she suggests and her heart lifts a little when Emma nods.

“Yeah, we should.”

“Text me when you get home?”

“I will.” Emma pulls her in for a hug and neither one of them are in a hurry to let go. “Well…I guess I’d better be going. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

Regina watches as Emma walks to her Volkswagen and gets in, returning the wave that she gives before driving away. She manages to make it out of the parking lot before the tears start and wipes at them gruffly. “Get a grip on yourself, Mills,” she says to the mirror. It’s become her mantra.


	8. Chapter 8

The registered letter that comes in the mail two weeks later turns her world upside down. The return address is a law firm and she experiences a sinking feeling that only grows as she tears it open and reads the contents. Groping for the wall so that her legs don’t give out on her, she rests heavily against it and lets herself sink to the floor. Robin and Marian Locksley are suing her for malpractice in the death of their son, Roland. A hearing date has been set. She stops reading and stares into space for a long time.

Once she can manage to get herself together enough, her first call is to Gold. He talks her down off the ledge and gives her the name of an excellent malpractice attorney he knows.

“We’ll get you through this,” he assures her. “You didn’t do anything that any of us would have done differently in your place. Don’t worry.”

She tells him that she won’t worry before hanging up, but worrying is about the only thing she can do. Regina never has quite banished those voices of self-doubt that had screamed so loudly that Roland’s death was her fault, and this just stirs them up again.

She texts Kathryn and asks her if she’s heard of the lawyer Gold has referred her to. Kathryn calls not five minutes later.

“Why are you asking about a malpractice lawyer? Are you being sued?”

“Yes. I lost a patient before going into treatment. I was just notified today that his parents are bringing a suit against me.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Regina.” Regina hears her let out a long breath before continuing. “I don’t know this guy, but let me do some checking around for you.”

“Thanks. My chief of staff recommended him.”

“Understood. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. And Regina? Stay strong, okay?”

“Sure.”

Don’t worry. Stay strong. Easy to say when your life wasn’t spiraling out of control. Just when she's seen the light at the end of the tunnel, Regina discovers that the light is on the front of a speeding train. She hugs her knees to her chest and rests her forehead on them, trying to think of reasons why she shouldn’t just give up. There aren’t many.

**

The day of her first meeting with the Locksleys over the lawsuit only adds insult to injury. It’s hard to look at Robin and Marian, who had almost been friends to her before Roland’s death, but the worst part comes when the defense’s expert walks in. She only knows him in passing, and from his reputation, but he’s a giant in the field of cardiology. His testimony could easily sink her entire career.

Regina looks from one to the other and back again. Her first impulse is to break down in tears, but she summons every bit of strength to just sit there and let her lawyer handle it. There’s a creeping sort of doom that makes her want to scream, but as Kathryn had said, the man representing her is very good. He finesses his way to a second meeting, giving them time to regroup and figure out a way around this unwelcome development. Regina calls Gold to fill him in and he’s just as surprised as she was. “Dr. Webb? _Gary_ Webb? He doesn’t testify in malpractice cases.”

“Well, he is testifying in this one,” she says, feeling more despondent.

“Somebody with a lot of money and clout must have gotten him here.” 

Money and clout. Those words do not describe the Locksleys, but they do describe someone else she knows. The whole thing reeks of her mother’s involvement. Regina hasn’t heard much from Cora since the day she told her to leave and now she knows why. Only Cora has the pull and the finances to bankroll Dr. Webb’s involvement while at the same time having an axe to grind with Regina.

Arriving back at her house after the meeting, Regina walks into her sitting room and stares for a long time at the liquor cabinet. She’s barely been in this room since she’s been back because she didn’t want to face the temptations it presents. Today she’s there with a purpose.

Taking out her phone, she pulls up the text string she’s been having with Emma. She finally allows the tears to come as she types out, “Thank you so much for everything, Emma. I love you. Goodbye.”

**

[Emma]

Emma stands just inside the door to the sheriff’s office, staring at the message that has just come through on her phone. Why is Regina saying goodbye to her? Has she said something wrong? Just as she’s about to ask what the hell happened, a horrible answer dawns on her.

“Graham!!”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta go. I’m taking my patrol car.”

“Do we have a call? I didn’t hear anything on the radio.”

“We don’t, but I do.”

“Swan, you can’t use a patrol vehicle for your private business.”

“You let me drive it home at night and keep it at my house.”

“That’s different.”

“Then you can fire me later. I gotta go now. A friend is in trouble!”

With that, she sprints to the door, not even slowing down when he calls out to her again. She’s in the car and screeching out of the parking lot in record time, flipping on the light bar and sirens as she goes. Thank God she’d just filled the gas tank that morning because it’s an hour drive to Regina’s house at regular speeds and she’s not about to stop for anything short of traffic not getting out of her way fast enough. They can fire her and lock her up for it later. She has to get to Regina before she does something stupid that she can’t take back.

Splitting her attention between the road and the GPS, she manages to get the right address pulled up, and then it’s pedal to the metal as she hits the interstate. She tries calling Regina’s cell and only gets voice mail.

“Goddamn it, Regina. Pick up!”

She keeps trying, but every time it goes to voice mail. Her fingers drum on the steering wheel and she prays to every deity that she can think of that she won’t be too late.

By some miracle, Emma makes it to Regina’s door without crashing, and she sprints up the walkway only to find the door locked. Cursing violently, she runs back to the car, rummages around in her purse and comes back with a lock picking set. Kicking a door down might be dramatic on TV, but putting her ill-gotten skills to use is far more effective in practice. Besides, Regina’s door looks too stout for anything short of a battering ram.

With the adrenaline pumping, her hands are a little more unsteady than normal, but she manages after only some minor fumbling to get the tumblers to fall. “Regina!” she calls out as she shoves the door open and speeds into the house. The bottom floor is empty, so she takes the stairs up to the second two at a time. Hearing a noise to her left, she turns to the first door and hurries through the empty master bedroom to the bathroom. There, at last, she finds Regina on the floor beside the toilet.

She’s conscious, barely, but she looks worse than Emma has ever seen her. “Fuck,” Emma mutters under her breath. Then, louder, as she goes to squat beside her, “Regina? Hey. Hey, hold on. I’m going to get an ambulance here for you.”

Regina clutches at her arm, trying to shake her head. “No. No ambulance.” It’s clear that she’s been crying, and Emma doesn’t need to see the labels on the spilled pill bottles to know what she’s done.

“I’m not going to let you die here. You need medical attention.”

“Not going to die,” Regina mutters miserably, leaning forward to rest her forehead on Emma’s shoulder. “Threw up most of the pills.” 

“How do I know you’re not just saying that to keep me from calling 9-1-1?”

“Wouldn’t lie to you. Love you.” Regina’s voice has turned dreamy, like she’s about ready to drift off.

“Hey.” Emma shakes her, pulling her upright and holding her by her shoulders so that she can see her face. “Hey, stay with me.”

Her eyes open and the pupils are so dilated that Emma almost can’t tell that her irises are brown.

“Th’re gonna take m’ license, Em’ma,” she slurs, “big shot test'fying ag'nst me.”

“The malpractice suit?”

“Yeah. ‘M gonna lose errything. She's gonna keep takin' errything.”

“No, you can’t think like that. C’mon Regina.”

“Y’got a gun, right Dep’ty? Jus’ shoot me. Put me outta my misery.”

“Regina,” she says sternly, “knock that shit off. We’re going to sort all of this out.”

Regina sighs, then closes her eyes again. It takes another shake to get her to try to focus. She blinks at Emma, then lifts a shaking hand to place it on her cheek. “Y’re so beautiful. Wish…” Her voice trails off.

“What do you wish?” Regina doesn’t answer so she prompts her again. She needs to keep her talking. “Regina, what do you wish?”

“Wish y’ felt somethin’ f’r me.”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“D’you?” those eyes peer at her, trying to see her more clearly, and for once, Emma’s not sure how to answer. She lives a solitary life by choice because she’s been burned so many times. There‘s a good reason why she prefers one-night stands to relationships. Looking into those desperate eyes, she feels something cracking loose inside her.

“I wouldn’t drive 95 miles an hour in my squad car to come to the rescue of just anyone, you crazy woman.” She wraps a hand around the back of Regina’s neck to press their foreheads together as tears leak out of the corners of her eyes. “So don’t go dying on me now that I’m here, okay?”

“I’ll try not.”

Emma’s not sure how long they sit like that but it’s long enough that Regina’s breathing slows and that jolts her into panic again. “Hey! No sleeping.”

“Tired.”

“I know you are.” She lets go of Regina and moves so that she can stand up. “Let’s get you up off of this floor though. Come on.”

Regina makes a feeble protest, but Emma eventually gets her up and helps her carefully down the stairs to her kitchen. She doesn’t dare take her to the bed lest she fall asleep more easily. Instead, she gets her sat in one of the chairs at her kitchen table, then brings her a glass of water. “Drink that and I’ll make us some coffee.”

Thankfully, Regina doesn’t argue. Her stare is a bit glassy, but she does what Emma tells her to do and sips at the water until the coffee is ready. All the while, Emma talks about her day as though they are back in that diner instead of sitting in Regina’s kitchen after she’d tried to overdose on pills. She knows that she’s probably an idiot for letting Regina talk her into not calling emergency services, but when she looks at that haunted face and thinks about how desperate Regina has been not to lose her license, she just can’t bring herself to do differently. The poor woman has just been through so much.

“This is happening because I stood up to her. I’m never going to be free,” she says quietly, her voice not nearly as slurred as it had been.

“Your mother?”

Regina nods.

“Shit. What did she do now?”

“She always destroys everything that I love. Like Daniel.”

Emma sets Regina’s coffee in front of her. “Tell me about what happened?” She knows about most of her family woes, the ups and downs of her medical career, but the story of Regina’s great loss was always one that she’d never managed to tell.

Regina stares into the surface of her coffee, and for a moment, Emma doesn’t think that she’s going to answer. Then, in a halting voice, she begins to speak.

“We met when I was thirteen. I had asked for riding lessons and my mother actually said yes. He was two years older and his parents owned the local stables. I don’t know if it was love at first sight, but it was at least childish infatuation. We didn’t go to the same school - I was enrolled in a very exclusive private academy and he went to the local public school - but he didn’t live far away.

“I used the horses as an excuse to go see him. He liked me too. I would help him with his chores and we told each other silly jokes and made up outlandish stories. When we were a little older, we’d sneak off and make out in the hay loft or under a tree somewhere. I was convinced that I was going to marry that boy someday, even though I knew my mother didn’t approve of him at all. That didn’t matter to me. I naively thought we were going to run away together and live happily ever after.

“Everything changed during my first year at college. Mother caught us together when she showed up unannounced at my dorm room. She raised holy hell and told Daniel that he was never to come near her daughter again. I begged her not to say that. I told her I loved him and I was planning to marry him.”

Her voice trails off.

“What happened?” Emma asks, dreading the answer.

“They found his body a week later, washed up along the bank of a river not too far from his house. To this day I couldn’t tell you if he had an accident, if he was killed, or if he killed himself. It was my fault, no matter which it was.”

“Regina,” her heart breaks for her, and she reaches out to squeeze her arm, “you can’t blame yourself for that.”

“Can’t I?” she turns her gaze slowly back to Emma’s face. “He was my first love and he died. Because of me.”

“No. Assuming that it wasn’t a complete accident, he died because your mother is a horrible person. You were both kids, doing the sorts of things that kids do. Hell, I was in jail and pregnant at the age when this happened to you.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a helpful comparison.”

Emma has to smile because that sounds more like the Regina she knows. “You're right, it's not. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose someone I loved that way. What did happen was bad enough. I just wanted to let you know that it’s not your fault. You were in love and doing things that are natural for two people who are in love to do. Your mother is allowed to not like it, but if she drove Daniel to do something that led to his death, or worse, that’s not your fault. It’s hers. She should own that.”

“You know, you’re starting to sound like Archie.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Hmm.” Regina goes back to contemplating her coffee cup, and Emma gives her a while to regroup. “Emma?” she says at last.

“Yeah?”

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“If you think I’m going to leave you on your own after all of this, you actually are crazy.”

There’s the hint of a smile. “Then do you think I can go to bed? I’m so tired.”

Emma has to consider that for a moment. Regina’s far more coherent than she was, but Emma doesn’t know if she’s out of the woods yet. “Only if I go with you.”

“Is that your way of trying to get into my bed?”

She laughs at that. “It’s my way of demanding to be in your bed. Otherwise I’m not letting you go.”

“Okay, but only because you insist.”

Emma shakes her head, then gives Regina a steadying hand as she gets up. She helps her up to bed and settles in with her, one arm wrapping around her waist as she curls up against her. The gesture is a comfort to Regina and reassurance to Emma that she’s still breathing.

“G’night, Emma.”

“Night, Regina. See you in the morning.”

 She hopes. She prays. Regina falls asleep long before Emma does.

**

[Regina]

“Emma?” Regina walks into her kitchen, bloodshot eyes focusing on the way Emma is sitting - Indian style on a kitchen chair - and eating a large bowl of her Raisin Bran. “Honestly. Who sits that way?”

Emma laughs at first, as she turns her attention toward her, but the indignant question shatters some unknown tension that was lingering between them. Before she knows what’s happening, Emma’s laughs have turned into wracking sobs. Regina’s arms are suddenly full of a distraught blonde who keeps muttering over and over, “I almost lost you.”

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Shhhh. It’s okay,” she murmurs into thick curls, pressing her cheek reflexively against Emma’s head.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again. Do you hear me?” She pulls back to search Regina’s eyes and Regina can see an edge of desperation there.

“I promise,” she soothes, hand rubbing Emma’s back. Then softer as she strokes tears away from her cheek. “I promise.”

She doesn’t know how to reconcile the fact that Emma is actually here, in her house, that she actually cares. It’s not something Regina ever would have predicted, and she cherishes the moment, even as she expects it to all come crashing down again soon. “I shouldn’t keep you,” she mumbles, though she doesn’t make a move to let her go. “I know you probably have to get back home.”

“Are you kidding?” Emma looks at her like she’s grown another head. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not after last night. I already called Graham to let him know where I am and that I’m not coming in today. Maybe not tomorrow either. We’re going to get all of this stuff that’s going on with you sorted out and you’re going to go have a session with Archie. I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

Regina doesn’t know what to say. She’s not used to having anyone besides her mother lay down the law in no uncertain terms like that, but as their eyes meet and the moment stretches between them, she can see that this is coming from a place of caring, not domination. Emma cares about her and is willing to stand up to her and for her. She bows her head and says, “Okay.”

“Good.” They watch each other for a bit longer, then Emma rests her chin back on Regina’s shoulder and they stand there, just holding each other in silence.

“Regina,” Emma whispers finally.

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Before everyone asks, yes, there will be a sequel. This is where I wanted to end this story, but there is so much of Emma and Regina's story left to tell. I can't promise that it will come soon, but it will eventually. :) 
> 
> Thanks for coming on this wild ride with me!


End file.
